


The Thrice-Broken

by GracieLauralee



Category: Supernatural, Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Alternate Canon, Angst, Antisepticeye Sean McLoughlin, Anxiety, Canon Universe, Chica - Freeform, Crimes & Criminals, Dark, Darkiplier - Freeform, Demon, Demons, Deviates From Canon, Dorkiness, Dreams and Nightmares, Enemies, Family, Fantasy, Feelings, Feels, Fights, Flashbacks, Friendship, Horror, Humor, Impala, Injury, Manipulation, Mark Fischbach Egos, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Science Fiction, Sean McLoughlin Egos, Supernatural Elements, Torture, Trauma, YouTube, YouTubers - Freeform, alteregos, antisepticeye, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 33,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracieLauralee/pseuds/GracieLauralee
Summary: Antisepticeye, Darkiplier, Dean, and Sam travel the country and try to stop the apocalypse. Set in season 4 and on.Or-Mark was wandering around his house, Chica close behind as he looked around. He had a weird feeling, a tingle up his spine. Like when it’s about to rain or when someones staring at you. Most people are nigh always wrong when they feel like they where being stared at, but Mark just couldn’t brush the feeling off. Even after night passes over the whole house he still felt that off-putting paranoia. And as time moved on, as the sky started to get lighter, he started to become more and more nervous.He heard sirens, the tell tail cause of destruction, rushing to his house and skidding to a stop. He sat still, held his breath, and waited. He gave Chica a pet when she woofed beside him, feeling his anxiety. When there was no knock on his door after a while he slowly stood from the chair and looked out the window.His neighbor had been murdered.
Relationships: Celine | The Seer/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel, Marzia Bisognin/Felix Kjellberg
Comments: 110
Kudos: 120





	1. Poor Jimmy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718245) by [Lielie96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lielie96/pseuds/Lielie96). 



Mark was wandering around his house, Chica close behind as he looked around. He had a weird feeling, a tingle up his spine. Like when it’s about to rain or when someones staring at you. Most people are nigh always wrong when they feel like they where being stared at, but Mark just couldn’t brush the feeling off. Even after night passes over the whole house he still felt that off-putting paranoia. And as time moved forward, as the sky started to get lighter, he started to become more and more nervous. 

Something was happening, or something already had and Mark couldn’t do anything about it. Not without risking his safety, Chica’s safety, heck, the whole city’s safety. Mark kept searching, hoping that, whatever the threat was, it was in his home and not hurting one of his neighbors. 

Chica whined behind him, her tired trotting stopping as Mark turned to look at her.

“Oh, sorry, Chica bica,” Mark said as he went to the back door and slid it open for her, she ran outside to do her business. Mark filled up her bowl as she went and made himself some cereal, then let her back in. He was staring blankly ahead, mindlessly chewing as he thought. It wasn’t his fault, whatever happened wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have stopped it. He could have. If he didn’t come here they would be fine, he shouldn’t have ever left, shouldn’t have ever started in the first place. He kept spiraling, going back and forth between guilt, denial, and sadness, as he waited.

He heard sirens, the tell tail sign of destruction, rushing to his house, and skidding to a stop. He sat still, held his breath, and waited. He gave Chica a pet when she woofed beside him, feeling his anxiety. When there was no knock on his door after a while he slowly stood from the chair and looked out the window.

His neighbor's, the man who lived alone across the street, house was riddled with police. Other people looked on in curiosity from behind yellow tape. Mark quickly stood up, hooking up Chica on a leash and trotting outside to see what was going on. He had a good idea of what had happened.

“Hey Suzy, what happened?” Mark asked, tapping a young woman with blond hair on the shoulder.

“Oh, Mark!” She said, jumping a little from him suddenly showing up behind her, “Mark, it’s just terrible. Some animal broke into his house and just- just tore poor Jimmy to shreds,” She started looking near the brink of tears, putting her hands to her mouth and looking back to the house, rejoining the crowd the neighborhood had formed at the time. This little cove of the town wasn’t used to stuff like this, they hadn’t had a murder here for years and now an animal attack. It would take quite a while for them to get over this, and it was all Mark’s fault.

Mark worked his way to the front of the crowd so he could see better. The door looked clawed up and blood-spattered the area of the entryway that could be seen. 

“What do you think?” He murmured, patting Chica on the head. She glanced up at him, then sat down and looked at the house. Her ears shifted back and she growled lowly, “I was thinking the same thing,”

When Mark looked back up the crowd was murmuring loudly, gasps and whispered surrounding him. He glanced up to the door as a gurney was being pulled out of the house. The corpse was covered but Mark could smell it from here. It was hellhounds, the crossroad demons were hunting him down. Mark backed up, gently shoving his way through the crowd as he walked backward. Once he was free he trotted back to his house and gently shut the door behind him. He leaned against it, his forehead pushing against the wood.

He’d been waiting for this day, that’s why he had been moving around so much, he shouldn't have gotten so comfortable. He has been here too long. If he had just moved when he had the chance Jimmy would be fine. He banged his fist against the door, turned around, and slid down it.

“What should we do Chica?” Mark murmured as he sat down pulling Chica close when she scooted up beside him. She laid down on his lap and looked up at him, “I don’t know either,”


	2. The Hunters

“What do you think of this one?” Sam said, tossing the papers over to Dean. Each of them was a printed off newspapers. 

“Pack of dogs breaks into man’s house, found dead. Young couple killed by wild dogs in car. Family killed by pack of wild dogs, child only survivor,” He tossed the papers down before he read the rest. There was five other deaths.

“All in a twenty-mile square radius, and, get this, the child who survived said ‘it was invisible, like the bogey man’,” He quoted from the article, tapping the paper as he did so. 

“Guess we’re going to LA,” Dean said, making a quick U-turn and heading the other way.

“What’s it sound like to you? Vengeful spirit, Shojo, Deava… hellhound?” Dean asked.

“I’m thinking hellhound too, but killing whole families? Seems weird for groups of people to be making deals,” Sam said, reading over the papers again. 

“Yeah, I was wondering the same thing? Maybe they were teenage friends, making a deal altogether as a dare or something?” Dean offered, turning a corner as he brought them onto the right highway to get there.

“Could be,” Sam looked at the map, dotted a couple of things, then drew a circle. “Looks like they’re circling this area. That narrows it down a bit,” Dean, grabbed the map and looked at it.

“Narrows it down to 20,000 people, Sammy,” Dean sighed, “We’ve had worse odds though, let’s just start with the most recent guy… Jimmy. Talk to his neighbors.”

“Good plan,” Sam pulled out his computer and started typing. Music playing loudly as he searched, his laugh cut through it after about two hours of searching.

“His neighbor across the road was interviewed after the death, he didn’t want his name to be public but a few … less respectable writers said his name. Mark Fischbach, 50th most subscribed YouTuber in the U.S,” Sam said, smiling as he looked at the screen.

“50th, huh, is that good?” Dean asked, glancing at Sam, going well above the speed limit.

“We’re practically meeting a celebrity,” Sam laughed, as he scrolled, “Get this, he got famous playing horror games,”

Dean chuckled, “Guess he’s gonna get some real-life experience, huh?”

“Looks like it,” Sam said, as he started searching deeper, hoping to find something interesting.


	3. Knock at the Door

It had been a day. A day of quiet, but the feeling was still there. Something was circling him, looking for him. Mark spent it cooped up in his house, trying to avoid interviews to the best of his ability, hoping that if he didn’t do anything no one would notice him. He posted a backup video today, he didn’t think he could get the upbeat persona going with what was happening. 

His plan was to wait one week, one week for things to either cool down or for them to get more heated. If things started up again he would bail, and if they didn’t he would move quietly, he had to move anyway. He was sure one of those bloggers let his name out somewhere. He had starting packing, incase. There were now three bags of dog food and one bag of clothes in the back of his car ready to go. In retrospect, he should have had a getaway bag ready to go this whole time.

He was now sitting on the couch, blindly watching the news as Chica sat on his lap, waiting for another death. Hoping that one wouldn’t happen, that it was really just wild dogs. He knew it wasn’t.

There was a knock, just one octave away from a pounding, at the door. Mark froze up for a moment. He could tell it wasn’t a demon, from his own senses and Chicas reaction, but he was still petrified. It could be anything, police, a fan, an angel, maybe even a hyper-intelligent cat. Who knows?! The knocking edged on the line of a pounding, it could almost be a hammering really. Mark shot up quickly, Chica scampering towards the door as he stood. He needed to do this quickly while he still had the nerve.

He power walked to the door, Chica wiggling by it as she waited to see who was there. He reached out to the doorknob, hesitated a moment, then threw it open. 

“Hello, I’m Agent Lynne, this is Agent Tandy,” They pulled out badges, “We’re with the FBI, investing the resent death,” He gestured awkwardly to the house behind them. 

“The FBI is investigating animal attacks?” Mark asked, grabbing onto Chica’s collar just in time to stop her from going outside.

“Dog attacks specifically, we think that…” He glanced at his partner, the shorter one, Lynne, “They might be trained.” He looked down at Chica.

“That’s a nice dog, you’ve got there. Did… uh,” Lynne pandered off, motioning vaguely towards her.

“Her name is Chica,” Mark said, giving her a pat on the head and telling her to go back inside. She trotted away, giving one last longing look outside that turned into a glare at Lynne. Lynne gave a smile that turned into a baffled look as he saw Chica’s glare. Tandy glimpsed the shorter agent’s expression and chuckled.

“Did Chica, or you, hear or see anything the night of the attack,” Tandy continued, cutting off the laughter with a cough “scratching, barking, black smoke, anything like that,” 

Mark stuttered for a moment, shifting on his feet before looking back up at them, they were both quite a bit taller than him, “Black smoke? The barking I get, but smoke?”

“Just normal questions, we got to cover all the bases,” Lynne said, smiling, “Can we come in, it’ll help us get a better read on the neighborhood,”

“Um, uh- sure, come on in,” Mark backed up, pushing the door the rest of the way open, then going to sit on the smaller couch. Chica jumped up to greet him, then pattered over to the ‘agents’ to check them out as they sat down. Mark was questioning the whole ‘FBI’ thing pretty heavily after the ‘black smoke’ question. “Is it cool if I look around while Tandy asks questions?”

“I guess,” Mark knew there was nothing in the house incriminating, but it was still nerve-racking. ‘Lynne’ stood as he started searching around the house.

“So how well did you know Jimmy?” Tandy asked.


	4. Yoyoing Potential

Mark shifted awkwardly, watching Chica sniff him out instead of looking him in the eyes.

“He was just my neighbor, I didn’t know him well,” Mark paused, “He was nice, I guess, Suzanne -she lives a few houses down- was pretty good friends with him,”

“Anything you remember is fine; was he partially successful, good at something like art or math. Any enemies maybe,” ‘Lynne’ asked. At this point Mark was convinced, he was dealing with hunters, and hunters that knew they were dealing with hell hounds. He was getting more and more nervous about how close Chica was to them. 

“He wasn’t any of those things, really. He was a nice guy, he worked some office job, he was good at yoyoing I guess,” Mark said, leaning back. Jimmy was particularly good at yoyo, really Mark was surprised he didn’t have a youtube channel. Mark should have featured him, Mark felt a spike of guilt shoot through him. Jimmy was a good guy, didn’t have much going for him, but he really did have potential. Yoyoing potential. Mark tried to throw off those thoughts, refocusing on the agents.

“Why would you think the animals where trained, there’s only been one attack,” Mark asked, glancing into the kitchen to see the other rifling through his cupboards. ‘Tandy’ gave him a sad look, glancing up at him and away quickly.

  
“There have been five attacks, eleven deaths altogether,” Mark paled, running his hand over his face and leaning onto his elbows. This was all his fault, he was sure. Any good he’ll do, has caused, will never  _ ever _ cancel out what he has done. He shouldn’t have thought he could get away, it was selfish of him to think he could do good in the mortal world, “Uh, Mr.Fischbach? Mark, you okay?” Mark ran his hands through his hair one last time before straightening up.

"Yeah... I'm fine"


	5. Winchester

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just… It’s hard to take in, I can’t believe I didn't no-uh-know sooner,” He leaned back on the couch, glancing at Chica, trying to mentally inform her to stop letting the hunter pet her. If only he could telepathically communicate with her… if only.

“Not a salt man?” ‘Lynnel’ asked from the kitchen, popping back into the room.

“I’m allergic,” Mark responded, not even a moment's hesitation as icy fear ran through his blood.

“The dog too?” ‘Lynnel’ held up a dog food can. It clearly read ‘Salt-Free!!’.

“I don’t like to have it in the house, just in case. I have a pretty bad case,” Mark answered. This was getting risky, one wrong word and he and Chica were done. The salt was suspicious enough, but if he said the wrong thing they would be after him if they weren't already, “I can’t drink alcohol either. Body’s not the best,” Mark laughed softly, trying to subtly change the subject.

“Damn, that must be torture,” ‘Lynnel’ said, walking into the room and sitting next to ‘Tandy’, “Not even a sip? Have you ever drank?”

“A sip or two won’t hurt, but anymore, pfft. Might as well call an ambulance cause I’ll be going down,” Mark said, silently rejoicing that they where over the whole salt thing.

“Well, I think I might have to go mourn for a few hours,” ‘Lynnel’ said, he patted Tandy, “Got everything, Sam?” If Mark were drinking water he would have done a spit take, but he was sure the expression was there from looks on the agent’s faces. Sam… Sam Winchester was in his house. Great...

“You okay, man?” Who was now almost definitely Dean, Dean Winchester, asked. Even as out of the loop Mark has been, he knew how dangerous the Winchesters where. Knew how crucial it was that he stayed as far away as possible from them. It had practically become a cardinal rule. 

“Fine! Just fine,” Mark said, stuttering a smile out past his nerves, “My-my uh, that’s my sister’s name,” That was so dumb, if it wasn’t incriminating to facepalm right now he would.

“…” The brothers looked at each other and stood, “We’ll be in contact with you,” They left, casting suspicious glances behind them. Talking to each other the whole way as they drove off in the very obviously Winchester Impala. 

Mark turned around after locking the door, slowly sat down on the couch, and scrichted Chica on the head.

“Welp… We’re fucked,” He said, he proceeded to fall into a minor mental breakdown as he pondered the results of the Winchesters knowing of him.


	6. Fishing

“That was weird,” Dean said, cruising through town as they talked. Sam was searching again, there had to be something about Mark on there that was incriminating.

“Yeah, it seemed like he knew us. Not by face, but by name- my name at least,” Sam was too focused on the screen to look up at Dean.

“So he knew us, and neither him or the dog-”

“Chica,” Sam looked up after Dean didn’t continue, he was giving him an annoyed look, “The dog's name is Chica… she’s a good dog! I’m allowed to remember her name,”

“Just don’t let me get between you two, I’d feel bad,” Dean chuckled as he turned into a hotel parking lot, “Well… salt allergies and knowing us… anything else?”

“He seemed pretty freaked out when I mentioned the other deaths, which isn’t too weird. He doesn’t seem to know his neighbors, I would say that he kept to himself but he just might not want fans knowing he lives there. That’s pretty much all,” Sam said, leaning back in the chair, “I can’t find anything. He donates to charity for Pete’s sake, I can’t find a single bad thing on him,”

“But that doesn’t matter. He knew us, he can’t touch salt. He’s some kinda creature, we’ve got to figure out what,” Dean said, they were in the hotel parking lot now.

“Maybe we should go back, expose them to salt, holy water. Draw a devil's trap somewhere, just set up the basic stuff and see what we catch,” Dean offered up.

“Sounds good to me, he didn’t seem violent, just freaked out. Maybe he’s something low level,” Sam got out of the Impala, going to pay for a room.

“Tomorrow them?”

“Tomorrow morning, he might make a run for it,”

“Maybe we should go tonight, avoid another attack?” Dean asked.

“Sounds good to me. We’ll set up here, make some traps and see what happens,”

“Seems like fun. Like fishing,” Dean smiled, as he pushed the door to the hotel lobby open.


	7. Welcome Mat

Mark had thrown everything he needed into the back of his car, recorded more backup videos and two specific videos just in case. Goodbye videos, one saying he will never be coming back and one saying he doesn’t know when he’ll be back. He had two weeks of videos built up, if he couldn’t make more in that time he would post one of the goodbye videos and that would probably be the end of Markiplier. The end of Mark Fischbach.

“Ready to go, girl?” Mark asked as he walked to the door that led to the garage. Chica trotted along with him, she would probably be content as long as she was with Mark. So Mark assumed her happy wiggling as they walked was her saying ‘yes’, “Then let’s g-'' Then there was a knock (almost banging) on his door.

“Mr.Fischbach?” Sam questioned through the door as Mark stood there, almost to the garage, and tried to figure out what to do. If he ran they would chase him down and they would kill him. If he pretended he wasn’t here they would bust down the door if anything he had heard about the Winchesters was true. If he stayed and talked he might have a chance. He walked to the door and tossed it open with a smile, just as Sam was going to knock again.

“Agents, how could I help you- crap, no Chica! Come here!” Mark said, moving to grab onto her as she ran outside, it wasn’t good for her to be anywhere without Mark there. She could take care of herself fine, but it was dangerous these days for her to be alone. But she stopped her rush to be outside when she was on the welcome mat. Sniffing curiously at the ground as she stood, all three of the men stood in silence as they watched her try to figure out why she couldn’t move. 

“Well then!” Dean said, an odd, satisfied smile on his face, as he pointed down at Chica, “Hellhound?”

“Hellhound?” Mark chuckled nervously, he couldn’t run. Not with Chica trapped, “What are you- uh-… What did you do to Chica?!” Mark put on his best-disgruntled neighbor look.

“I’m sure you know,” Dean said, them both stepping around Chica and pushing Mark into the house. Sam slamming the door behind them.


	8. Old Yeller

“Look, guys, I don’t know what’s going on,” Mark said, the brothers pushing him back until he hit the couch and sat down, “Just- please leave… and I won’t call the police,”

“Skip the normal, human guy act. We know you’re not,” Dean said, the two standing above him, pulling handguns from their belts and pointing them at him.

“The question is what you are,” Sam asked, looking around the house in between glares at Mark, “Thinking about leaving?” It wasn’t a question. Things were strewn about, all the drawers were open, and there were bags at the back door.

“I’m not anything, what are you guys talking about?!” Mark tried to insist, going to stand up but the guns were just pushed closer.

“Guess he’s not gonna say,” Dean said,“We’ll have to figure it for ourselves then,” He grabbed a water bottle with a cross floating in it from his back pocket. Sam pulled out a bag that smelled distinctly of salt, a silver knife. He poured a line of salt in front of him and around the chair, keeping him from moving but not stopping them from entering. Salt wasn’t too scary when used as a barrier, a simple gust of wind or misstep could break the seal.

“What do you want to start with?” Dean said, holding the items up, when Mark didn’t respond he grabbed the salt “The basics then.”

“Look, guys, you don’t want to do this! I haven’t done anything!” Mark held up his hands, trying to move away, but he was cornered. He’d have to stand before he ran for Chica, but they were pointing guns at him. He could take a normal bullet but they where hunters, anything could be in those shells. And even if the bullets were normal he’d have to use his demonic powers to break the salt line, and that was altogether too risky. 

“So you do know what we’re talking about?” Sam said, Dean was pouring salt out onto his hand, “Do you want to tell us, or do we just figure it out for ourselves?” 

“I don’t know what you're talking about! There is nothing for you to figure out!” Mark said quickly. Chica had started barking and growling outside. It was edging on the echoing growl, the dangerous one.

“Maybe we should get the hellhound, Chica, First?” Dean said, he pulled a knife out from his jacket. A knife with an antler handle and a silver blade encrusted in old runes. A knife Mark knew very, very well, “Then we can talk to Mark,” He looked to his brother questioningly. Sam gave him a vaguely disappointed look, the look you would give to someone asking to kill a dog, then nodded.

“Don’t hurt her, she hasn’t done anything!” Mark started to argue.

“We’ll make it quick,” Dean breathed on the knife and wiped it on his jacket to clean it off. Dean backed up and pulled the front door open, Chica growling up at him her eyes taking on the slightest red tint. Dean readied the knife, “She won’t even notice,”

“If you kill her you won’t even be able to comprehend the horrors I’ll put you through,” Mark said, his vision was greying. Not in the fuzzing, I’m gonna pass out way, but in the tell everyone to run way. Dean lowered the knife to her throat, just outside of the trap. Chica back up, she knew the knife as well. She cowered against the invisible wall of the trap, whining as she stared the knife. Her eyes shifted to Mark, begging for help.

"Stop!” Mark yelled. He shot up and hit the border of the salt line. Sam had backed up quickly, pointing his handgun at Mark. 

“Don’t you dare hurt her! Not with that knife, not with anything! Don’t even look at her,” He could feel it, his emotions dwindling to a cruel roil, the spell breaking, his eyes turning into a cold black. Dark shadows were staring to condence in the room, not quite enough for the humans to notice, but enough for Mark to start trying to calm himself down.

“Demon. Called it,” Dean said, walking back into the room and closing the door, tossing a handful of salt onto Mark. Most of it hit his clothes, but the grains that did hit skin burned, and it definitely didn’t help him calm down any, “Let’s ask some questions then gank him and the dog and get out of here, Sammy boy,” Mark growled lowly, too low to be heard, the black and white filter on his vision taking on a blue and red flare. Mark felt the spell that kept him… him breaking, cracking. He had to make a choice; calm down and risk everything he loved, or let the spell break and deal with the consequences.

He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk the city. He knew he could kill the Winchesters, but he truly didn’t want to. They were good guys, guys just trying to stop the slew of murders. They were also guys threatening to kill his dog, and that, surprisingly, is what was really pushing him towards the edge. But he had to calm down, he had too. Worse things would happen if he let himself kill them, way worse than anything he was dealing with right now.

So Mark stood still, holding his breath, and glared up at the two as guns were pointed at him. Not only guns but a demon-killing knife too.

“What do you want?” Mark asked lowly, his vision was starting to clear but he was still angry.

“So...uh... how long have you been posing as Markiplier, huh?” Sam asked from behind the gun he was aiming precisely at Mark’s left eye. Mark couldn’t help it, he laughed. He stopped quickly when guns where poked just a little bit farther forwards.


	9. Markiplier

“I’m not  _ posing  _ as Markiplier. I am him, I made that whole channel,” Mark said, holding his hands up, trying to prove he wouldn’t do anything. The shock of the question, thrown in with a bit of reminding him of being Markiplier, had calmed him down pretty heavily. He was still pissed about them threatening Chica, but he wasn’t as close to the brink.

“So a demon made a youtube channel… why?” Sam asked, “If you were trying to corrupt the kids, I’d get that… but you seem pretty clean,”

“It was a dare, me and some friends wanted to see who could become famous the fastest. There was no malicious intent, just a bit of fun, okay? Turns out that I like the YouTuber life,” Mark said, Chica started barking louder, whining and growling as she tried to leave the circle and help Mark, “Just let her out okay, she wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Mark tried to make it sound like he wasn’t begging but Chica’s whining was bothering on a level few could understand. 

“What’s with you and the dog? I’ve never heard of a demon with a pet,” Dean asked, laughing a little, “The opposite of shaggy and Scooby? Ace Ventura? Kujo? What is it?”

“I’m not like normal demons, as we have established. And Chica is my dog, dude, I care whether or not she’s happy. And right now I think she’s pretty pissed,” The barking was now the very obvious hellhound snarl. An echoing sound that drifted through your whole body and promised a slow and painful death.

“You and  _ Chica _ have been killing people and you want us to think you’re not just like any other demon?” Dean asked, “You might have been playing dress up for a while, but it seems like you can’t keep that act up for long,”

“I haven’t killed anyone- not in a hundred years at least,” He amended, knowing that not killing anyone wasn’t very believable, “And I definitely didn’t kill them,”

“You’re trying to convince us that the demon and hellhound are not the ones committing the demon and hellhounds attacks?” Dean asked. Mark had to agree, really it was hard to believe he didn’t have anything to do with it. And they were right, it was his fault, even if he didn’t kill them himself. 

“It wasn’t me, but I know who did. Just let Chica leave, and I’ll tell you what’s happening,” Mark sighed as he sat down on the chair, avoiding looking them in the eye, “Just don’t hurt her, she hasn’t done anything wrong,”

“Fine, we won’t hurt Chica. We’ll ask you a few questions, for real this time, then go from there,” Sam said, lowering the gun but not putting it away. They slowly sat down on the couch, Chica quieting down as the guns were lowered and Mark calmed.

“So who’s doing it if it’s not you?” Sam asked, he seemed oddly calm now… these guys were really starting to freak Mark out.

“Crossroad demons are after me. I must have pissed them off or something,” Mark knew exactly what he did to make them angry, but that particular truth might be more harm than good. 

“So if we kill you they’ll stop, huh?” Dean asked, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“I’m not- I’m not like other demons. You can’t just stab me with the- that knife and kill me. It’s not that easy,” Mark said, sighing, “I’m made of tougher stuff than most demons, that’s why they’re trying to find me and that’s why I left. And even if you did kill me, that doesn’t mean they’ll leave. I’m probably just the first stop on the list,”

“And being stronger made you want to leave hell why?” Sam asked, making it sound like the weirdest thing ever said.

“It was a lot of work and it wasn’t much fun being… in charge. When we had the chance to go topside we thought maybe we could live our own lives. Do our own thing, have some fun, and then it was just… different. Spending 100 years on earth can do a lot to change a guy. 150 years more and you start to see the wrong in your old ways,” Mark answered, the results where true but the why was all a lie.

“So it only takes a couple of years out of Lucifer’s employ for a demon to gain a heart. Well, heck, we should start up a rehab program, Sammy!” Dean chuckled. Sam smiled at Dean’s joke for a second but continued on with the questioning. 

“So they’re chasing you to… get you back? Kill you? Throw you a birthday party, what?” Sam asked, running his hand through his hair as he spoke.

“Probably to kill me,” Mark said, nodding to himself, “I was never too greatly liked, but what can you expect when you’re in upper management,” He laughed just a little, Dean stifling a chuckle.

“So if we moved you somewhere else the killings will follow wherever you go?” Sam asked, a bit of a hopeful look on his face that didn’t reach his voice.

“Yeah, they can sense me. Not by much, but enough to narrow me down to this area and start taking out anyone suspicious. If I move they should be able to to tell,” Mark nodded, following his line of thinking.

“Great, you and Fido hop in the truck of the Impala, and we’ll hit the road,” Dean smiled, and standing up

“The trunk?!” Mark asked, “Why?”

“It’s only a days drive, you’ll be fine,” Dean patted him on the shoulder, “It’ll be fun,”


	10. A Deep Rut

“Guys, it’s cramped back here!” 

-hours pass

“It smells like gas and holy water! It’s really annoying!”

-More hours

“Chica needs to pee!” The car quickly pulled over, presumably on the side of the highway. He could hear muffled arguing.

“We’re almost there, only one more hour!” Sam yelled.

“If she pees the deal is off, she’ll be getting the Lassie treatment!” Dean continued, the Impala rolling back onto the road and taking off. Mark was sure he heard a vague comment from Sam ‘that’s just mean, dude, we already pushed our luck. Trying to piss him off again?’

-One hour

The Impala rolled to a halt, the doors slammed closed. Mark could hear their voices clearer now that the engine was off.

“Bobby! We’re here!” Dean called out, patting the lid of the truck a few times. It did not make Mark jump… not at all.

“What are you ijiots doin’ bringin’ a demon to my house? Why don’t you just exorcise the thing?” Bobby, Mark guessed, called out.

“He doesn’t seem like other demons,” Sam said, with an incredulous laugh, “He’s even got a pet dog,”

“For the record, Chica’s a hellhound,” Dean responded. Mark heard bobby huff, probably throwing his arms up in disbelieve. 

“And Chica, like all dogs, needs to pee on occasion! If you didn’t remember,” Mark said, kicking the inside of the trunk.

“Oh, shit, yeah. I forgot about that. Don’t let her pee, you bastard,” Dean said, but the trunk didn’t open.

“You’re just gonna opened trunk?” Bobby asked, “There’s a demon in there, boy. Sam get the chains,”

“Chains!? Did I just hear someone say chains?” Mark yelled, his voice reverberating through the trunk loudly, making him wince.

“Yes, chains, what did you expect,” Bobby grumbled as he heard the clink of metal outside of his cramped prison. Chica wiggled beside Mark, looking up at him. Her large brown eyes wide in the dark and reflecting an otherworldly red light. Mark was feeling particularly thankful for the ability to see in pitch-black darkness.

“We’ll don’t fault me for being optimistic. I thought I saw a friendship growing on the way here… it was probably just Stockholm syndrome,” Mark said, scratching Chica behind the ears as he waited. The trunk flew open, chains that felt vaguely like salt incrusted iron were tossed onto him. No, felt exactly like salt incrusted iron. Burned exactly like salt incrusted iron, Chica made to jump up and bite Sam’s arm, but Mark grabbed her and held her back. That was particularly easier than holding back the yell of pain. Chica whimpered and shifted but stayed still, “A little warning wouldn’t hurt,”

“Sorry for the pore bedside manner, Princess,” Bobby, who Mark now knows is an older bearded man with a baseball cap, said as Sam wrapped the chain neatly around Mark. The chains were placed in a way that they only touched his clothes, but it still tingled painfully. The feeling of potential pain. Luckily Sam seemed to have enough respect for Chica and Mark to leave her unbound, “Let the dog piss and we’ll go down to the bunker,”

Mark gestured to Chica and she quickly bounded out of the trunk to sniff around the lot. It was a goodsized junkyard, full of cars, scrap metal, dead grass, and dirt. The perfect place for what looked like a golden retriever with a day of pent up energy to sniff around for hours. But Mark couldn’t indulge her as he was roughly pulled out of the Impala and towards the old blue house.

“How was the ride?” Dean asked, putting his hand on Mark’s shoulder as he watched Chica run around happily.

“Pretty okay, I can’t complain,” Mark shrugged vaguely, “Chica might be a bit pissed though,” Chica looked perfectly content, as always, she barked happily and ran in a little circle, “Guess not,”

“I’ve been wondering about that. How in the world is that a hellhound, I’ve seen hellhounds and they are not like that,” Dean asked.

“You’ve seen a hellhound?” Mark asked, looking at him quizzically, “I didn’t take you as a guy to make a demon deal, Dean?”

“How’d you know my name?” Dean asked, readjusting his hold on the knife.

“I’m not living in a hole, just a very deep rut, everyone knows the Winchesters,” Mark said as they pulled him into the house, the chains shifting uncomfortably as they moved. It was a good-sized house made to look small by the sheer amount of stuff. It looked exactly like you’d suspect a supernatural nut living in a junkyard’s house would look like. Full of books, maps, old rugs, and empty beer bottles. But it was cozy, homey in an odd way. Chica must have thought so too, as she ran into the house and happily jumped onto a couch, a puff of dust drifting into the air above her. 

“Oh, get off the couch! OFF!” Bobby yelled, shooing her away with her hand. Chica popped off, head down, and scampered to hide by Mark’s feet. Once Chica was inside the door was shut and a line of salt was quickly drawn over it by Sam. Mark felt the odd claustrophobia off being in a space with few escape rooms overtake him and tried to shake it off. Dean walked him to a door and opened it. It was a long staircase leading too what looked like a concrete basement.

“Ready for the grand tour?” Dean asked, smiling, as he started pushing Mark down, towards the basement.


	11. Demon's Chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm don't think I'm going to have time to post a chapter tomorrow so that is why chapters 10 and 11 are being published on the same day. So... Thanks for reading!

The ‘grand tour’ was fairly anti-climatic. It mostly included him being ‘gently’ sat in the middle of a devil’s trap painted in the middle of an almost normal looking basement. ‘Almost’ as in it was full of weapons and various monster-killing objects, including a part of a large metal dome with a vault-like door sticking into the room. It smelt oddly like salt. Like the iron chains he was now tied to a metal chair with. Not to worry though, the iron chains had already blistered the skin on his wrist enough for it just to be a dull ache. Chica was sitting next to him, allowing herself to be trapped to sit by Mark. The brothers were circling the trap in sync, talking about what to do as Bobby stood at the front with his arms crossed and glared at pretty much everyone in the room.

“We could just leave him here and wait for his buddies to arrive, let them duke it out?” Sam asked.

“Twenty bucks on Mark,” Dean responded with a chuckle.

“Thanks for believing in me, buddy,” Mark said, almost earnestly, “But I think a pack of hellhounds might be a bit over what we’re all ready to deal with right now,”

“A whole pack, huh? You must be pretty popular for all this attention,” Bobby asked, watching him from behind the brim of his red hat, his hand loosely turning the barrel on a revolver.

“I was pretty high up when I was down there, and- well I was a demon in a position of power which is never a good thing, even in hell. I tended to piss people off, and I especially pissed demons off. Nowadays I’m not too bad, but people tend to hold grudges,” If there was one thing Mark was good at, it was lying. That was a skill he had long before he became a demon and not one that would easily leave him. And he knew that hiding lies in truth was almost always the way to go.

“So that begs the question. Why would a so-called ‘top dog’ demon-like yourself pop up to earth and start donating to charity?” Bobby asked, readjusting his stance, pulling a few bullets out of his pocket and checking them over. Smelt like more and more salt, with just a tad of holy water for flavor.

“And don’t try feeding us the same ‘Humanity changed me, I saw a flower blooming and learned the errors of my ways,’ crap,” Dean said, an edge to his tone that Mark just couldn’t bring himself to take seriously. A couple of centuries on earth couldn’t take away 500 years of dealing with people much more threatening, and himself being… much more threatening. He was still definitely nervous about Chica’s safety, but he assumed they wouldn’t hurt her now that Mark was ‘safely’ secured in the trap. Mark sighed loudly, maybe he had lost his touch. Whatever, this truth shouldn’t hurt anything too much if he covered the right things up.

“You know how some entities need specific vessels, angels and things like that,” Mark asked, them nodding before he continued, “Well that’s true for me, too. But I thought it would take too long to find one that fit right so I just possessed the first person I could and had a witch seal away the bits that made me a bit more demony than average. You can guess how surprised we were to find out that it broke loose some of our more humany bits too,” Mark finished the story quickly, he didn’t much like talking about that whole transition from immoral demon to caring citizen. The process was a tad emotional for him.

“We? Who’s we?” Bobby asked, the boys both turning their stares to him instead of Mark, then back to him.

“You’ve mentioned other people earlier. Who’d you come uptop with?” Sam asked, he was the only one not brandishing a weapon.

“Just a couple friends,” Mark responded quickly, shrugging vaguely.

“Demons have friends? Where you all members of the same chess club or something?” Dean asked.

“No -verily any other demons play chess- we were just the same rank, about the same age. The closest thing you can get to family in the demon world, I guess,” Mark pattered off, he hadn’t talked to either of them in months. What if they were going through the same problems? What if it was more than just crossroad demons coming after a less than liked boss? Much more. Mark shook himself out of those thoughts, he couldn’t deal with that right now, he had to focus. Wait for a perfect moment to escape, and then deal with the possibility that Mark had been fearing would come for a while now.

“I can’t believe that I’m believing this,” Dean said, sheathing his handgun. 

Then there was a pop. A sound so faint that the humans almost definitely couldn’t hear it, but they could see it. Mark could tell it was behind him, feel its presence and see Chica’s head flip to look at it. It was an angel, Mark had spent enough time with Lucifer to feel that.

“Cas! What the heck are you doing here?” Dean asked, throwing his arms up in questioning as he looked above Mark’s head to see the Angel.

“I noticed you had captured an Emissary of Lucifer. We have been searching for him,” Cas, Mark had never heard of an angel called ‘Cas’, said calmly, “Good work,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be known that Mark is lying about a lot of things here. Certain things he is saying are true, but a lot of it is him trying to keep things he thinks will get him killed hidden. I’ll try to inform you when he is lying but not tell you what about. If anyone other than Mark, or whoever the fic is focusing on, lie I won’t tell. And for the record, I don’t think the real Mark is a liar, Dark would be though… so… yeah


	12. Trumpet's Sound

“An Emissary of Lucifer? What’s the message?” Sam asked. 

“They will harold the word of the devil’s escape from the cage,” Cas said, as he walked around the small devil’s trap. Unafraid as he stood in front of Mark, Bobby stepping out of the way so Cas could look Mark over. He wore formal clothes with a tan trench coat over it and a distinctly emotionless expression. Mark didn’t recognize the man, which wasn’t very surprising due to the tendencies for Angels and Demons to change their forms.

“I don’t see him blowing any horns to announce the arrival, has he already escaped?” Dean said, pointing the devil knife at Mark. His eyebrows creasing in confusion as he stared at him.

“Don’t ask me, I have no idea. I’ve never heard about any of this,” Surprisingly Mark was telling the truth here.

“He isn’t saying anything because the devil has yet to escape. He has been put on earth for when he does,” Cas explained, but it definitely didn’t look like he was listening to the conversation, “Hello...Dark,” Mark tipped his head back to look at the ceiling and sighed loudly. Damned angels and their cocky emotionless faces and there acting like they know everything. Mark looked back down at the Angel. Mark noticed something slightly useful hanging from the ceiling and held back a smirk, looking back down to the hunters. Cas had bent down slightly so he could look directly into his eyes. 

“Hello, Castiel,” It was an educated guess that it was not ‘Cas’ but ‘Castiel’, “I don’t think we’ve met?” Mark responded, putting on his best friendly introduction smile, opening up his hand as if for a handshake but it was still chained down. It was all, of course, a front. He didn’t like angels much, he didn’t know if it was because he was a demon or just a personal vendetta but he didn’t like them at all. He could hear the three hunters in the background arguing, a conversation vaguely consisting of.

“Did he call him Dark?”

“Maybe we just heard wrong,”

“Cas might have misspoken. Can an angel misspeak?”

And other similar debates.

“No, we haven’t,” Castiel responded to Mark levely, straightening up to turn to the hunters, “How did you capture Dark? Did you encounter the others, are they still alive?”

“Why do you keep calling him Dark?” Sam asked, crossing his arms and stepping closer to Cas. Castiel, Sam, and Dean had turned their backs to Mark now. Only Bobby was still staring him and Chica down, still holding the revolver.

“It was a guess, there are two others with his title. I assumed from the hound that this demon is Dark,” Castiel responded, pausing to wait for the answer to his question. 

“No way,” Dean said, “Dark is too dramatic, even for a demon, don’t you think?” Mark grumbled a bit at that, back when he was first called that it was a great boost to his ego. Of everything that existed all those centuries ago it was the dark that people feared the most. And in truth, everyone was still afraid of the dark, they just weren't as vocal about it.

“His name is Dark, I have no thoughts on whether or not it is dramatic, ” Castiel said, a confused squint to his eyes. Everyone was now staring at Mark, it seemed they were waiting for him to refuse it.

“‘I go by Mark now, for the record,” Mark said quietly after a moment gaging the room. Sam started chuckling, putting a hand over his mouth as he turned away. Dean didn’t even bother hiding it, laughing loudly and saying.

“Dark? Really?” Dean was now at that point of laughing where no sound came out but you were still clearly laughing, “Oh, great and powerful Dark, tell me did you give that name to yourself or was it your emo girlfriend?”

“It was cool at the time okay,” Mark grumbled out. Chica stood up and looked to Mark, sensing his embarrassment and looking for Mark’s okay to attack. Mark waved his hand subtly and she quickly sat back down, directing her stare to the angel instead, “If you think that’s dumb you should hear the other two’s names,”

“Yes, the Others. Are they alive?” Castiel said again, trying to get them back onto the topic.

“We never saw any others. It was just him,” Sam finally answered. Most of their attention was off him along with the guns. The main problems now were Bobby, the Angel, and the devil’s trap. He could handle that, just use a bit of demonic energy, crack the ground, and fade out of here. Simple as that, but to do that he would have to put a hole in the seal holding back his power… it was just too unstable, it would be almost impossible for him to pull his energy back into its cage... He… he didn’t want to hurt anyone. It’s not something he could bring himself to do anymore. He had changed. He didn’t go by Dark anymore. He wasn’t Dark anymore, and he didn’t want to be him again.


	13. Axe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just edited a bit of the story, I took away the names of the other emissaries, because why not make it exciting. Sorry to the people who already read it before I changed it.

“That is good. The other Emissaries must stay alive,” Castiel said, turning back to look at Mark, “Where are they now?”

“Castiel… I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mark was being honest, he assumed he was talking about _them_ but… “I’ve never heard of ‘The Emissaries of Lucifer’.”

“But that is what you are, your title,” Castiel responded shortly after, he looked even more confused now.

“I really haven’t heard of that… ever,” Mark said, tilting his head to look behind Cas and to the hunters behind him, raising his eyebrows to subtly ask for help. Dean sighed, and grabbed Cas’s shoulder, turning him around to do what looked like a huddle with the other hunters. Here’s a chance. Mark quickly looked around the room, a typical basement. Things on shelves, on the ground, and hanging from the ceiling. One particular thing was hanging on the ceiling, something he noticed earlier, an ax just in the range of the devil’s trap. It didn’t seem like a mistake a hunter would make, but Mark was pretty sure the Winchesters’ arrival at Bobby was a bit short notice. Mark glanced back at the hunters, they were still huddling.

“Cas, what are you talking about man?” Dean asked. Mark looked at Chica, he didn’t need demonic energy when he had a demon’s best friend at his side. When Chica noticed his eyes on her he glanced up at the ax, going back and forth a few times, hoping Chica would understand. She was a smart dog, she would figure it out pretty quick.

“Dark is a highly ranked demon put on earth to inform the standing armies of Lucifers escape. It is written in the list of seals at the end,” Castiel explained as if he was teaching the simplest thing in the world to first graders. Chica was staring up at the ax, couching down lowly and wiggling her butt just a little. Like a cat getting ready to pounce. She jumped up, getting about 5 feet into the air and missing the handle of the ax. She landed lightly on her paws, giving the most apologetic look a dog could to Mark. He mouthed ‘it’s fine, try again’’. Chica turned her attention back to the ax.

“Well, what’s it say?” Sam said, taking a quick glance back at Mark. Mark froze instantly. Chica was in her getting ready to jump position, and Mark was very much not looking up at an axe (almost obviously trying to avoid looking anywhere but straight forward). It was the most ‘hand in a cookie jar’ expression ever seen, but Sam must have decided it wasn’t as important as questioning Cas as he looked away.

“Does it have anything to do with hellhound attacks?” Sam asked Cas. Chica popped back up into the air, biting onto the handle of the ax… unfortunately it must have been held to the ceiling with two particularly strong nails. It made a slight shifting sound as it got used to the weight that was Chica hanging from it just above eye level.

Mark knew it was just above eye level because Dean looked over his shoulder from the sound. Glancing at Mark and looking around the room. He didn’t notice Chica hanging from the ceiling, or her absence from the cage, as he turned back to the huddle. Mark let out a long sigh of release at that.

“No, that must be unrelated,” Castiel paused to think for a moment. Chica started wiggling, trying to silently shift the ax out of place. She was making progress, “In revelations after the 66 seals have been broken there is another… piece. It acts similarly to the seals, but it is more like the key,” Mark had started listening to the conversation a tad more now, he had heard of the seals but not anything about him being a part of it.

“So breaking the seals uncovers the lock and the so-called ‘emissaries’ unlock the door?” Sam asked, Chica shook again and the ax slipped free. She only had a moment to look surprised before she landed on the ground with the ax in her mouth. Happily wagging her tail and presenting the ax to Mark. “What does Revelations say about it?” Sam asked. Mark mouthed to Chica again, ‘Good girl!’ he glanced at the lines of the trap nodding his head towards it a couple times, ‘Quite, quietly though,’ Chica looked to the lines and readjust her hold on the ax. She started slowly sawing at the paint, the problem was though… was that she’s a dog… Axe’s aren’t made for dogs. This may take a second.

“Revelations tell ‘The Emissaries will appear. One to lead, one to whisper, and one to kill. A three-man army. All first defenses, Human and Angle alike, will be rent to provide sanctuary for the Dark King. When Lucifer’s power returns he will find his vessel and lead the second charge. The Thrice-broken bow before him, their job done. The apocalypse can begin’,” Castiel said “Through vast scrutiny, we have learned that it means ‘Lucifer can not attack until people that have been broken by him three times have destroyed or informed every angel and hunter on earth’,” He finished as Chica was about halfway through the circle… to bad Mark reacted the way he did,

“WHAT!” All heads snapped to Mark, even Chica’s. Mark stayed shock still for a moment, instantly regretting the outburst. Eyes quickly turned down to Chica, finally noticing the presence of the ax and the partially broken circle… welp, no reason to be quiet now. Chica started sawing again, much quicker now that they already knew.

“What the fuck?” Dean whispered as he took a step closer to the circle, it sounded something like awe as he watched the dog using the ax, “I’m back in hell,”

“Don’t worry about Chica right now,” Mark said, “Worry about that bastard Lucifer lying to me. All that crap about me- Ah, I’m so stupid! It was all just for his fucking seals!” Everything was going black and white again, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with that right now. Mark should have known! How could he have trusted the egocentric jackal! All that shit about ‘You were met for more, and I can give you more. All you need to do is blah blah blah’ not even a single word about prophecies, armies, or the apocalypse. Only a ‘high paying’ job doing the things he was good at; Manipulating, making deals, and killing people. What was to refuse? Mark stood up, his powers starting to break through as the iron chains snapped. Chica was about three saws away from the circle breaking, “Oh, ho ho, killing that idiot won’t be enough?” Mark was starting to feel the rise of anger crackling down to the old normal. A cold, empty pit of cruelty deep in his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I pretty sure at this point of the show the Winchesters didn’t know about the seals but it’s just a couple episodes later so I’m just gonna skip over explaining that bit.
> 
> Also… Woo hoo, finally a long chapter!


	14. Thrice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked up a collage of Castiel doing different expressions. I thought it might make things easier

“Dark, calm down!” Castiel warned, face just as flat but there was an edge to his voice, stepping closer to the circle. Dean grabbed onto the handle of the ax, the spot right before the blade began. A game of tug of war started, Chica planting her feet and yanking the ax back, lucky for her she was a hellhound with otherworldly strength. Lucky for Dean the devil’s trap they were in wasn’t large enough for her to fully pull the ax away. 

“Why Castiel?” Mark growled out, his vision taking on a red and blue effect; as if there where three differently colored images overlapping each other. Most would think this would obstruct his vision, confuse him, but Dark had dealt with this longer than most anything had lived. He’d gotten over the nuisance centuries ago, now it was almost nostalgic, “To what end? Calm down so when his hellhounds arrive at your door I’m weak again and they drag me back down with minimal damage?”

“No,” Castiel said lowly, a clipped air to his tone, “The revelations say ‘thrice-broken’, if you go back to the ways of Lucifer three times you are that much closer to completing the prophecy. You have only broken once-” Castiel was cut off in the middle of his sermon.

“Twice. If breaking is doing Lucifer’s bidding willingly, we, the emissaries or whatever you call us, have broken twice,” Mark said, his anger flipping on itself. His vision snapping back into color was almost dizzying, his posture changing. He hadn’t even noticed he had straightened his back, squared his shoulders, exuding the dominance he hadn’t felt in a while. He consciously relaxed, obtaining his normal posture. 

Lucifer wanted him to get angry, wanted the seal to crack and shatter under the weight of his cruelty and appetite for vengeance. He couldn’t let that happen. Mark’s rage blew away in an instant, knowing that it would only help the center of his ire if he stayed mad. He wouldn’t let himself do a single thing that that devil wanted, but he had a feeling that ‘calming thought’ wouldn’t work to stop his wrath again. Mark looked down at the tug of war match that was still going on, “Chica, drop it,” His voice sounded even more defeated than he thought it would. Instantly she opened her mouth, Dean flying back at the sudden release of pressure and falling to the ground. Chica happily sat back down and watched Dean stand back up, her tail wagging before she looked back to see Mark’s dull expression. She scooted towards him and laid up against his leg. He set his hand and on the side of her head gently, trying to refocus himself on the present.

Mark looked over the group of hunters. Bobby was cautiously watching in the back of the group. Castiel was right in front of Mark, and the Winchesters were on either side of him. Dean was on the right, ax in hand as he glared down at Chica. Mark slowly sat back down onto the chair, hunching over and resting his elbows on his knees with a tired sigh.

“I think it’s time I start telling the truth,” Mark mumbled as he thought over his story.

“Ya think!” Sam and Dean said at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, the next chapter is going to be pretty dang long.
> 
> Also, I’m thinking of changing the summery, anyone got any ideas?


	15. A Kind Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To say sorry for the shortness of the last chapter, I give you this one

Damien was a kind man. A noticeably skilled politician, the mayor of a village, with a knack for getting people to do what he wanted. Everyone in his small town knew about his talents, he was often called when a neighbor’s pig was stolen or the tavern was robbed. 

Everyone from the neighboring cities knew of his other skills. Skills that would get him hung if someone in the village learned of them, of course assuming he wasn’t able to talk himself out of the noose first. But that was impossible. He could talk himself out of anything, he could convince a farmer to burn his barley, a smith to kill his wife, a genius the sky was green, and a banker to donate his coin to a nearby river.

But he wasn’t paid to do things like that. He was paid for useful things. He got people off for murder, helped ease tensions between a few organizations, along with various other decent politician things. But truly, Damien was a good-natured guy, he didn’t have a bad bone in his body. He just had a very particular set of skills that could only be used for a couple of things, that’s what Celine said. He had to make a living somehow, he needed to protect his sister; even if she didn’t need it.

Celine wasn’t near as well known as her little twin brother, she also wasn’t nearly as nice. She was cruel, and vengeful, and manipulative. While she wasn’t nearly as skilled as her brother, she didn’t feel bad about doing bad things. Luckily, however, she lived too far away from town for people to ever get true word about her merciless soul. The people, small children on dares or concerned mothers looking for small children on dares, who had managed to speak to her told stories for years on; cold brown eyes, pale skin, sharp in every way, fiercely protective of her little brother, and a persistent cough always interrupting her words.

If the real stories of her power spread through town she would be burned at the stake.

She lived in a cabin with Damien. It was lonely when he was gone on business trips, but she occupied herself with her work. It was interesting enough. Occasionally people, some acquaintances of Damien others having just heard of her through stories, would stop over; old widows, sad children, people with dead grandparents and no will to divide the farmland- people desperate for help. So she would help them, she would call the spirit back and allow them to communicate with their sad loved ones. For a large fee of course. But Celine was sickly, her powers taking a tole on her human body. Their strength for her health- her lungs, her heart. 

There was always a ceaseless cough, one that Damien always worried over no matter how many times he had heard it.

Their life was as happy as it could be. A kind man doing bad things, a bad woman doing kind things. But they loved each other, the twins had never been without each other for more than a week at a time. Their juxtapositions made them the perfect team, and together they were working their way up the ladder. Celine had plans, plans that would include them stepping over a few bodies, that Damien would complete for her. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but if Celine told him to he would do anything, had done everything. 

However, there was a problem with their perfectly imperfect life. They lived in Korea in 1240, right around the time of the Mongolian invasion, and Damien found himself laying in the middle of their cabin. Blood pooling around him as a Mongolian blade clattered to the ground across the room.

Celine had just pulled it out of his stomach.

He was dying. There was no chance of survival, not in this time, not with these wounds. So Celine made a choice. It wasn’t something she had done before, but she had to do it. She couldn’t live without Damien, her brother was everything to her. The only person her cruelty didn’t show itself to. 

“Just hang on,” She said, cupping her hands on either of his cheeks, tears rolling down her face. Damien’s eyes fluttered open for a second, but closed again quickly, a silent mumble running through his lips. She reluctantly took her hands from him, leaving splotches of red on either side of his face. Celine ran her fingers through the pool of blood, her hands now painted in thick, dark red that reflected the candlelight in eerie ways, and started drawing symbols.

The symbols where familiar, giving her a moment to try and calm down as she let muscle memory do its work, she had done this hundreds of times before for weak little ghosts. She just needed to boost the signal and call for something more powerful, it shouldn’t be too hard. Human blood instead of blessed oil would do some of the work, but it wouldn’t be enough on it’s own. She started chanting out the incantations, changing some words here and there and adding a few more.

“What- what are you doing...” Damien asked, his voice wavering and pattering off as he turned to look at her with foggy eyes. 

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” She coughed, “I’ll save you, it’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine” She said quietly, focusing on the runes of blood she had drawn on the ground. There was a calm stillness in the air, just for a moment, before black smoke rose up from the ground. Celine watched it with wide eyes as it circled the room, briefly pausing over the dead Mongolian soldier in the corner then moving over to Damien. In one quick flash, it shot into his body. Celine froze, choking on a ‘No! STOP!’ as Mark went rigid. His eyes flooded a cold, distant black that sparkled as he sat up with a confidant smile on his face.

“Celine! It’s great to finally meet, what can I do for you?” It asked through her brother’s mouth, twisting his words and accent in a way that made Celine shiver in disgust. This wasn’t right, this was evil.

“My- my brother- He’s dying,” Celine said, trying to get a grip on herself, she needed to be logical at this moment. She was staring down depravity right now, but she was also staring at her dying brother. The demon looked down at himself, pulling up the blood-stained shirt to look down at the wounds. They leaked bright red, Celine turned her eyes away from the chunks of meat trying to push themselves from he wounds as he breathed.

“Guess you’re right, stings a bit,” The demon said with a chuckle, “A soul in trade for healing you’re brother’s wounds? Sounds fair to me. We can forgo the kiss, I understand that it might be a bit awkward,” It gestured to her brother’s body then stuck out a hand, a confidant smirk on his lips. Celine thought it over, and at this moment she couldn’t find anything wrong with the deal. She grabbed the hand, shaking it forcefully and let go.

She sat still for a moment, looking for the feeling of her soul leaving her but nothing came. She looked back up at the demon, his smirk still in place as the wound started to slowly heal over. 

“What’s happening, why-” Celine started to ask, but a hacking cough cut her off.

“Why are you still alive? Because it’s not you’re soul I’m taking,” The demon said, starting to laugh loudly.

“Then who’s?” Celine thought it over frantically as she caught her breath, her blood-covered hands running through her hair as she searched through their conversation. The dark brown locks becoming sticky and matted with blood. Her eyes shot wide open, crawling forward quickly, her blue dress soaking up blood as she made her way to the demon. She grabbed onto his jacket, pulling on it sharply and shaking wildly, “No! Not him! You can’t take him! Take me, take the whole town! Just not him,” She said frenziedly, the demon kept laughing. Throwing his head back as he taunted her. Black smoke started seeping out of the body, mixed in with a white glimmer. It was Damien’s soul, Celine had spent enough time with spirits to know that instantly. Celine stared, stunned, as Damien’s body started to flutter closer to death as the demon and soul keeping it alive left. 

Celine screamed shrilly, falling back onto her hands, Damien falling over, dead, once she let go of his clothes. She curled up into a weeping blood-covered ball, coughing and sobbing, as the black and white smoke floated around the room. Gloating.

Celine thought for a moment. This wasn’t her. She was stronger than this. She is a seer, a psychic, she can pull spirits from the dead and demons from hell. She can stop one from leaving. 

She sat up, shakily moving to a cleaner spot on the floor. Her blood covered hands drawing symbols on the rough wood that have never been drawn before or again, her mouth calling out chants and words that mean nothing and everything. She was still crying heavily, her body racked with sobs but not one hitch was heard in her words as she focused on helping her brother. Nothing was going to stop her from saving him.

The demon smoke froze in mid-air, shaking slightly as it tired to flick back to hell. It wouldn’t work, Celine wouldn’t let it leave. She fought it, doing things that can’t be explained. Not by anyone, as she called on powers that shouldn’t be touched. Asking the devil himself to let her succeed. She yelled out indications and deemed it to work on sheer will and innate power.

The last thought she had was ‘I didn’t cough once, that would have made Damien smile,’.

Then it worked, so quickly that all three of them didn’t even notice when their souls were pulled together. The white fog of Celine’s soul leaving her body to coincide with the demon and Damien. 

The souls didn’t even have the wherewithal to notice their death and reincarnation. The three very different minds had become one. A soul with a strong penchant for cruelty, one that was chillingly good at manipulation, a soul that would kill someone for nothing more than looking at him, something made from death and designed for deceit.

This was when a being was born, one made from the begging of a cold-hearted woman and two liars.

Something completely new. Something dark.

-

No one knew who won here. 

Was it Celine, for managing to stay with her brother?  
The demon, for corrupting two strong souls.?  
Or Damien, for finally losing the conscience that tormented him constantly?

However, Dark now knew the answer. It wasn’t any of them. It was Lucifer, for he had managed to find an already broken soul with the skills he needed. Someone who fit the job as ‘the whispers’ in the three-man army so incredibly well that he thought God might be on his side, just for a moment. He dragged them down to hell. Named them Dark after the month it took to torture him into breaking and gave him a job as the king of the crossroads.

He introduced them to their honorary brother, who had just recently been broken as well, and then waited for their third sibling to show their presence. It would only be a short ten-year wait for ‘The Killer’ to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Mark didn’t tell them all of this. It was just a summed up version with just enough detail for them to understand, but just assume that the hunters know everything you now know. 
> 
> Also, it kinda sounds like Celine and Damien are, like, dating- but they are NOT! They’re just really close siblings.
> 
> Also also. Just to clarify, they grew up and lived in Korea but they are not originally from there. That’s why their names are very much not Korean.


	16. Emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to be referring to the other emissaries as ‘brothers’ instead of their names because I decided I wanted that to be more of a reveal than how I had it before. So, for the people who read chapter 13 before I edited it, sorry about the spoiler

Dark was well-suited, almost tailored, to his job as King of the Crossroads. Celine was good at planning, Damien was good at controlling people, and the demon knew the ins and outs of the system. Really they were almost too good at it, so good it became boring after a couple of centuries. The time he spent with his honorary brothers was amusing but less interesting as they all grew tired, the arguing with his subordinates became tedious, the deal-making became repetitive, nothing changed. Dark could do more, was made for more, Lucifer said he would be more.

Then they were presented with an opportunity.

-

“Boys,” Lucifer’s voice seeped through the walls of his cage, echoing into their minds. The three, all doing their respective duties, snapped to attention and listened, “The apocalypse will soon be upon us. Just a couple short centuries left, and I need you three to do something for me,” There was a long pause as if waiting for a response, but Dark knew that wasn’t what it was. His leader was weak, it took much of his energy to voice his thoughts to them. He hadn’t spoken to Dark, or anyone, in 300 years. He needed time to rest between thoughts.

“Go to earth and wait for my arrival,” He said, a hint of glee to his eerily smooth voice, a voice that could easily rival Dark’s tongue, “You will need specific vessels. Ones I can’t provide, as they will be needed in the future, and I’m sorry about that. But I have found a way around it,”

Dark strolled out of his corner of hell, informing nearby crossroad demons that he would be out and that his second will be taking over his duties until he returned. He was halfway through the firey pit, almost to the point where he usually went to meet his brothers when Lucifer spoke again.

“You will find a vessel to your liking and I will have a binding placed upon it. You will be weaker, but your host will not die,” When Dark arrived in the meeting room his brothers were already there, listening in silence just as he was. Waiting.

“Over the next two centuries, the binding will be loosened. This should be enough time to adjust your vessels. But in the beginning, you won’t be much more than human. So be careful, I won’t be able to send you back and bind your power twice,” Lucifer finished. His voice was waning, cutting out to almost a whisper as he spoke. Dark wanted to ask questions. Why send us to earth? What should we do when you arrive? Should we assist in breaking the seals? But this was a one-way connection, no questions. Only orders and doing them. So Dark looked to the others. His eldest brother gave him a nod, the other a crazed grin. Dark smirked, the distortion in the air around him that always accompanied his presents shifted in something akin to joy. An emotion the three well knew Dark couldn’t feel. 

Then they were gone. 

Balls of smoke drifting through the wind at night. Searching for a form they liked, no concern for the lives they’re about to ruin. Demolish, tear apart, merely because they were there. At least not now.

Dark choose someone that looked similar to people from his past. A man with black hair and brown eyes, of distinct Korean ancestry. He hadn’t planned on putting much thought into the choice. He just avoided people that looked sickly; missing limbs, old, etcetera. And then he had happened upon someone who seemed almost familiar, so he chooses him in a fit of sentimentalism he would heavily deny later. 

-

Dark didn’t notice their return right away. He only assumed the odd feeling was being without the power he had been accustomed to.

He realized what it really was when a young girl in ratty clothing ran to him, asking for money as she jingled an empty can in front of him. Dark was hit with emotions so strong and foreign he nearly burst into tears right there. A tightening in the chest and quivering at the lip told him it was sadness. He hadn’t felt anything but sadism and cruelty for 500 years, pity and sadness wasn’t something he could deal with. The three different personalities shifted within him, just for a moment, as different ideas conflicted. Another thing that very rarely happened. He dropped to his knees in front of the girl. Pleading with her to forgive him, for he had nothing to give.

(The man he had chosen was poor. Dark hadn’t known this, nor will he ever, but the previous owner of the body had been ousted from the farm he worked at last week and kicked out from his home. He had a cheating wife, two adoring sons, and a daughter he thought was his. The sons had many children of there own. There are still direct grandchildren alive now, three of which watch Markiplier’s videos.)

This was when Dark realized that the binding had sealed away more than his power, it had brought back his humanity with it. Shoving emotions into him forcefully. Dark had never experienced emotion before. Celine, Damien, and even the demon had, but never Dark. Dark had always been free from them, his unnatural existence not allowing their presence. He had memories of them though. He knew Damien’s fear for his sister’s health and his guilt over the things he had done. He knew Celine’s hatred of her own weakness and the fierce love towards her brother. He knew the demon’s happiness for when his daughter was born before he became a demon. He knew emotion, but he had never felt them.

It was torture. Worse than anything hell had given him. 

He wanted them gone-Stop! I can’t take it anymore! GET THEM OUT!-He really wanted them gone. But he knew the second his emotions left he would be the same as before. A being, so different from human that he could verily be called a demon, with the memory of emotions lingering in his past and cruel intentions in his future. The only thing he ever wanted was to be stronger, more powerful, to see the trust in people’s eyes as he convinced them that his ideas were what they wanted to do, and feel the momentary sadistic pleasure of revenge. 

Now he knew better. If he went back to being cold he would kill people, corrupt people, have people kill people. He wanted it to be simple again but he couldn’t bring himself to find a way to break the binding and kill the body and emotions along with it. His feelings (how his brothers would laugh) stopped him. Damien’s morality stopped him. The demon’s want to redeem himself stopped him. And Celine’s need to gain their own power didn’t involve him going back to hell. All this combined made Dark, a being who didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.

So he stood as the little girl ran away with a disappointed frown and stumbled to where they decided to meet. He was surprised to find they had all gone through a similar experience. 

His older brother was staring at everything with wide eyes, holding a puppy in his hands and petting it with such gentleness that it was almost frightening. It did frighten Dark. He looked to Dark, his eyes for once truly seeing him, recognizing, him, looking him over in a way Dark had never witnessed him do before. There was awe in his blue eyes. As if he was completely missing something incredibly grand his whole life and now he could see every aspect of it in such detail and it was beautiful, overwhelming, and terrifying all at once.

His younger brother was sitting on the ground cross-legged, staring at his hands as he shook and cried, mumbling to himself in a language Dark never bothered to learn, his knife pinned to the wall of a barn ten feet behind him. Dark had never seen him without it. And when Dark looked at him, saw the pain, ‘younger brother’ wasn’t just a title that Lucifer had dubbed him, Dark truly felt for him. He felt the rush of protectiveness, the need to help him, that he had seen in Celine’s memories and never truly understood until now. 

He wanted to help his brothers, he didn’t want to see them scared or sad. He walked up to his little brother and placed his hand on his back, tentatively -Dark had never touched someone gently before-, and kneeled down. He froze under the contact and looked Dark in his eyes. The everpresent mania that was always in his green eyes was gone, replaced by clear blue eyes that held nothing but guilt and horrific understanding. Dark wanted to say something to calm him, but his years of deceiving people and putting people in a false sense of security couldn’t help him with this.

He looked to his older brother, almost begging, hoping that he knew what to do. He had to know.

“What should we do now?” Dark asked, his voice trembling in a way it never had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of made it sound like Dark has three different people living in his head (the demon, Damien, and Celine). He doesn’t, he just has one combined personality that sometimes conflicts with itself in a way that makes it seem like there are three. I know, it even confuses me, but I can’t find a better way to explain it


	17. The Forest

They made a decision, it took time as they worked through things they hadn’t felt in centuries. Each of them going through there own personal hurricane of new experiences. All of them considered it worse than any torture they had received in hell.

But they knew what they had to do. They couldn’t risk going back to how they once were. they had to find a way to stop Lucifer’s binding from loosening over time, they needed to find someone with that kind of power.

It took two years. Two years of pain, of relearning everything they knew. They were like small children, small children with the skills to rip the world asunder in their own creative ways. So they worked together, talking each other down when a tantrum, a panic attack, or a fit of rage (or any emotion) was drawing one of their brothers to do something he wouldn’t want to do. 

When they finally found someone it was by complete accident.

They were running, a nearby villager had spotted Dark bending the light around him as he argued with his older brother over something stupid and called the village into attack. Torches, handguns, and whatever someone could get their hand on were chasing them down the cobbled streets and into the nearby forest.

The villagers where superstitious, they wouldn’t risk going into the forest at night, and Dark was betting on that. The brothers had long since decided the stories of it where fake, they would have felt the magic around it if there really was something living there.

They were wrong.

A witch lived there, when ever she decided to. One who had been watching them. One that had the power to see what they truly were, but more importantly, who they truly were. When they had stumbled into her clearing in the middle of her forest, frightened of torches that had long since given up, the youngest of them fussing over an arrow sticking out from his side just below his ribs, the door was already open.

They started bickering with each other, Dark frantically trying to decide what to do, as the youngest tried to assure him he was fine. The oldest was staring at the old stone house with the open door and smoking chimney that stood in the middle of the clearing, looking like it had been there for hundreds of years.

When he turned back to his younger brothers Dark was just an inch away from yanking out the arrow, at 3 in a warning countdown.

“Now, boys, don’t do that!” A young voice called from the house two of them had yet to spot, “I just finished a loaf of bread and I have some freshly turned butter. I do not want any of you bleeding out before you can compliment me for it,” It was a little girl. She looked around 7, with long white-blond hair and eyes so bright blue they almost glowed. She wore a white gown, no shoes, and a single white flower in her hair. 

She was oddly terrifying.

“Don’t just stare. Come in,” She looked them over, her eyebrows scrunching up in annoyance, “I will get the arrow, out, just bring him inside,”

In a fit of insanity, or just bad judgment, they followed her into the old house.

(For some reason I decided to draw the Witch... so here she is!

She doesn't look as young as she was meant to, and crosshatching doesn't really work to well... but whatever, good enough. Next time I draw her it'll be better.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make the witch a YouTuber, but I truly couldn’t think of one that fit the part… so meet the first, and probably only, important OC of the story!


	18. Boy's Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been using Italics and bolding stuff, but I just realized that it’s not going through between google docs and AO3, so… I’m going to go through it and fix that sometime soon, sorry if anything was confusing or less cool than I meant for it to be.

“And then she made us a deal. She tightens up the bindings placed on our power every year or so, as long as we don’t try to help ol’ Lucy escape,'' Mark finished the story. Sam gestured down at the shadows that where still condensing at Mark’s feet, he immediately snuffed them out, them sinking back to the shape of a normal shadow behind Mark.

  
“I’m guessing you’re at the year mark, then?” Sam asked, taking a step closer to the devil’s trap.

“Yeah, the other two live overseas so I was waiting for them to get back. They should be here next month, but I think all this… excitement might warrant an early visit,” Mark confessed.

“Yes, you’re right. All the emissaries need to be here,” Castiel said matter of factly, “Contact them using your… e-mails and such,”

“ _ Overseas _ , Cas,” Dean said with a long sigh, running his hand over his face, “Emails won’t teleport them here,” He seemed to give up on explaining it to him, “Why do you even need them here if we can’t kill them?”

“We need them here now, alive, to prevent them from giving in to Lucifer,” Castiel said.

“No chance I’m falling for his crap again,” Mark commented with an annoyed huff, after he said it he looked around the room for a moment. He hadn’t meant for them to hear him say that, but he might as well go with it now, “Go on with you’re conversation about them, it’s not like their brother can help you with your problems,”

“Boy’s right,” Bobby took a couple of lumbered steps forward.

“Boy? Did you not hear the story, I’m 700 years old,” Mark looked down to Chica, “Humans… what are you gonna do?"

“I well know you’re old as balls, that don’t make you an adult. But the boy’s got a point,” Bobby shook his head at Mark, but somehow he made it seem like it was directed to everyone in the room, “How would you get them here?”

“Well, I’d call them first,” Mark said, gesturing, as if he was creating some grand scheme, “They’d answer, and I’d tell them I need them here. Now, this is where the crazy part happens. I’ll draw a summoning circle, a specific one, and they show up. Simple as that,” 

“Are you implyin’ we need to let you out of the trap?” Bobby asked, the ever-suspicious yet reasonable, man.

“Oh, come on, I almost escaped ten minutes ago, yet here we all are. Alive,” Mark said with an exasperated sigh, “Besides, if I drew the summoning circle in a trap they could tell and they would think something was up. So if you can’t trap them, why have me trapped?”

“Better having two demons running around than three,” Dean said, “Just tell us the circle, we’ll call them up,”

“No reasoning with you is there?” Mark asked, leaning back in the chair as if he was exhausted.

“Nope,” Dean said with a cheeky smile, pulling a phone out his pocket and tossed it to Mark. He caught it easily and checked it over.

“Well it’s nice to know you didn’t break my phone,” Mark said, looking it over. He opened the screen and checked the screen. He still had 5 and a half days until his ‘I’m gonna be gone for a while’ video automatically posted, and a bit less than three months for his ‘goodbye forever’ video. He had time, he just needed to figure out a way to get this all settled enough for him to start posting again. If he didn’t that would be the end of Markiplier, and probably Mark Fischbach as well. That would be too bad really, he kinda liked the life he built up with that name. 

Mark shook those thoughts away and brought up the contact list, deciding who to call first. Then he decided that he couldn't decide and just went alphabetical order, and clicked call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mark and his brothers all change their names and identities every once in a while. Usually, they just change their last name though to make it easier for themselves.  
> -  
> Also, I put a drawing of the witch on chapter 17, so If you read the chapter before I added it you can check it out if you want.


	19. Coolness Level

Ring Ring

Ring Ring

Ring R-

“ _ Hello Hello, Mark! _ ” Mark winced away from the phone, the voicing clearly heard through the room. (Mark whispered to himself ‘Really I should be expecting that by now’) He cautiously brought it back up to his face, shaking his head, as the hunters chuckled at him, “ _ what’s up _ ?” He asked, inside voice this time. Mark looked up to his  _ gracious hosts _ thoughtfully.

“I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a predicament,” Mark managed to say, he meant to say it seriously, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice, “Have you heard of the Winchesters?”

“ _ What?!”  _ Mark pulled the phone away again, “ _ Those two hunters? They’re alive again? Course those gobshites are, _ ” cracking a smile when the hunters chuckling immediately stopped at his disregard of them, and brought the phone back, “ _ You need some help, want me to fuck em’ up _ ?” Mark chuckled.

“No, well- uh, you see,” This would be hard to explain, “It seems- oh when you get here I’ll tell you. I’m gonna summon you, well the Winchesters are,  **don’t** kill them,” Mark felt he needed to clarify that he wasn’t in trouble first.

“ _Are you sure you don’t need help? They’re not torturing you or something?_ ” He asked, he had a darker tone to his voice now.

“No- well,” He glared up at the hunters, they glanced at each other and back down to Mark, “Not much. Now that I think of it, it was kinda pathetic, really,” Dean man a face, gesturing vaguely, like he wanted to argue. But it’s hard to argue the ‘I thought I tortured you pretty well’ thing.

‘Pathetic?’ Dean mouthed to Sam. Sam shrugged, looking at Mark. Mark gave a sincere nod and turned his attention back to the phone

“ _What can you expect really, humans and torture, they’re not great at it,_ ” His brother chuckled, “ _Is Chica okay?_ ” Mark looked down at her, she wagged her tail and did a little happy wiggle.

“She forgives quickly,” Mark said with a false solemn air, “Okay, see you in a minute,” Mark said, hanging up. He wanted to get him here before he could get himself worked up about Mark being with the hunters, he had a tendency to overreact.

“You got it drawn Cas?” Mark asked, Castiel seemed to have already known the summoning circle since he started drawing it 10 feet in front of Mark once he started calling. It was a fairly simple circle, similar looking to the devil’s trap but with a few different signs and his name written in an old demonic language.

“Yes,” Castiel stood and handed Dean a piece of paper, “Read this,” Dean grabbed it from him and looked over the paper.

“Dean,” Mark said, catching his attention as he slid his phone into his pocket, “When he's here don’t show him that knife,” He looked down at the demon knife on Dean’s belt. Dean looked confused, then pulled the knife out and hid it in his jacket.

He started reading the paper. It was the most hideously and confidently read latin Mark had ever heard, it almost made him cringe as he spoke. 

When he was about halfway through there was a crackling energy to the air, like the feeling of lightning, or when you put your hand on an old tv. Like electricity, like pure energy. The area above the circle seemed to disjoint from itself, like a monitor short-circuiting. A glitch. 

Dean finished the words, and the multicolored energy condensed into a form. It seemed to contract into green just for a second than a man popped into existence with no further pomp and circumstance. He looked the same as last time Mark saw him, practically the same clothes too. Black jeans and sweatshirt, and white tennis shoes. The hunters all looked surprised to see just a normal human standing there, and Mark didn’t know why. Mark looked human, why wouldn’t he?

Mark stood up walking forward so he was right on the edge of the devil’s trap.

“Bobby, Castiel, Sam, Dean, meet my brother,” Mark said, almost chuckling as he saw a sort of excitement enter his brother’s eyes, “Jack,”

“Top of the mornin’ to ya’,” Jack said, trying to put on such an air of confidence and coolness Mark broke out laughing. Jack’s facade, his relaxed posture, disappeared into his usual stance. His hands coming out of his pockets and righting his footing a bit, as he turned to glare at Mark. The type of glare that an annoyed little brother would give his older brother as he was being made fun of, but couldn’t help but think it was funny too.

“Don’t laugh!” He said, his accent peaking as he became more defensive, “I couldn’t think of what else to say. I fell back on the old and true,”

“The fans love it, I’ll give you that,” Mark chuckled, “But it doesn’t really make you look that cool,” Jack stuttered for a second, trying to figure out what to say to redeem himself, probably, sighed and shook his head. He reached into his back pocket.

Before any of the others even had a chance Jack had a knife in his hand and threw it. It shot through the air and glanced the floor, severing the devil’s trap, ricocheted off the ground, shot between Mark’s legs, went between the poles on the back of the chair, and impaled itself on the wall behind Mark, “Show off,” Mark stage whispered as he stepped out of the trap.

“How about that, then. Do you see my coolness now?” Chica bounded out of the circle, now free, and ran at Jack, jumping up just before she got to him, “No- Chica, don’- ah, shite,” Chica landed on him and they both toppled onto the ground, Chica licking his face wildly. Jack just laid their unmoving, giving into the unstoppable attentions of a hellhound.

“Yep. How could I have ever doubted how cool you are, Jack-a-boy,” Mark was laughing uncontrollably now, everyone else in the room was just watching with wide eyes.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their summing circle is more like a phone call. They can choose whether or not to answer it and see who is calling.  
> -  
> I’m calling Sean ‘Jack’ because for story reasons it makes sense, it probably won’t be directly stated in the fic why but it might be able to be inferred later. Also, it’s just kinda easier for me to write ‘Jack’ because whenever I write about ‘Jacksepticeye’ I think his name is Jack.


	20. Youtubers

“Okay Chica-Bica, that’s enough, don’t lick him to death,” Mark laughed, petting her on the head when she trotted back to him and giving Jack a hand up. Patting him on the back a couple of times.

“How’s it going?” Mark asked, more sincerely this time since they got over the brotherly banter.

“I’m good, but how are you? Is something wrong?” He looked Mark in the eye, his blue eyes staring him down as he tried to read him. Mark turned away and backed up a step.

“Let’s get our bro in here first, then I’ll explain” Grabbing his phone back from his pocket. Jack nodded, turning his attention to the others as Mark started dialing. 

“So…” Jack walked forward, an awkward air to his tone, past Mark so he was closer to the hunters. The hunters all took a step back as Jack got closer, only Castiel stayed put. Jack looked over all of them, trying to get a read for them. His gaze slowly settled on Dean, his eyebrows crinkling in confusion, “Were you in Hell?” 

"Uh," Dean’s eyes widened, he opened his mouth a couple of times, trying to figure out what to say, “Yeah…”

“You don’t remember it, do you. But I can tell by the way you stand where you were down there, who you were with, what you did,” Jack stepped closer to him, his eyes flashed black, Dean staying still as the other hunters stepped back as well. Sam readied his gun, then realized that Dean hadn’t moved and grabbed his shoulder to pull him back, “You tor-”

“Jack!” Marked called, pulling him around to look at him. Getting his attention for two reasons, “He’s not answering,” The black Jack’s eyes had turned shifted quickly back to the normal, as he gained a troubled frown. He pulled out his own phone.

“That’s not like him,” Jack muttered as he tapped on his phone. His eyed widened after a moment, and he turned the screen to Mark. It was youtube. He hadn’t uploaded in three days.

“That’s… not good,” Mark said in shock, as he took the phone from Jack to watch the latest video he had uploaded. It seemed completely normal, just a bit of gameplay. Sam must have overheard the video, cause he said.

“No way,” He made the brave move of snatching the phone away from Mark, which earned him a surprised glare from Jack. He looked over the phone, then showed it to Dean, “No way he’s a YouTuber too,” Dean watched the video for a second, probably watching him do something dumb, or completely fail at video games.

“How in the world are you demons?” Dean said, disbelievingly, “Heck does Pewd-ay-Pie even mean,” Jack started chuckling.

“Told him the name was dumb,” Jack whispered to Mark.

“Guess what they’ll think when they hear your name, Jacksepticeye?” Mark asked, Jack punched him in the arm.

“You’re the one to talk, Markiplier,” Jack scoffed.

“You’re all YouTubers?” Sam asked, a hint of feared awe in his eyes, as he thought about what it all could mean. Then realization, “You said it was a bet, who could become the most famous first, or something like that?”

“You became famous, not to destroy the world and kill all humans, but over a dollar?” Dean asked, seeming to have gotten over Jack’s momentary relapse.

“A hundred dollars and a sandwich, each,” Jack said the last bit like it really meant something, “Should have known we would lose. Felix has got an unfair advantage,” Jack said, looking over to Mark.

“Well he had an unfair advantage over you, I had a chance,” Mark said with a shrug, crossing his arms.

  
“I could have won if I went all out,” Jack denied, tilting his chin up in defiance.

“If I went all out I could rule the world,” Mark argued back.

“And I would rise the world to overthrow you and take down the empire you would have built,” He shook his fist in the air, “ ‘Viva la revolution’ and all that,”

“And then-”

“And then puppies would rain from the sky, and the sibling rivalry would be stopped in the name of cuteness,” Bobby said shaking his head, “I thought I had enough to deal with with the Winchesters, now I have two squabbling demonic step-brothers. I almost feel sorry for you’re older brother, where ever he is,” Jack and Mark lowered their heads and looked to the ground at the exact same time, the stereotypical scolded child look. They got over it quickly as they looked back up at each other.

“Where would he be?” Jack asked. Mark thought for a moment, thinking of every possibility (he immediately decided 'Sailed off to fight a Gyarados' was off the list) and some unpleasant things came to mind.

“We should probably tell you what’s going on, it might help,” Mark said, Jack nodded.


	21. Bow?

“Welp, basically, Lucifer lied to us,” Mark said, Jack had sat down in Mark's old chair.

“Well, that’s obvious,” Jack said he said instantly than looked at mark incredulously for a moment, “You thought he would tell us the truth?”

“Well he didn’t really lie, he doesn’t do that. He just manipulated us,” Mark said, a shutter rushing over him at the thought of being tricked. He wasn’t meant to be tricked, it wasn’t in his nature, “He put us on earth cause he knew it would bring our humanity back. He knew we would stop following him,” Mark was getting himself angry again.

“He wanted us to stop following him?” Jack asked, a concerned tint to his voice.

“Cas, just read the revelations thing,” Mark muttered, pulling Castiel forwards by the lapel of his coat and in front of Jack. Mark went to pace in the background.

“The Emissaries will appear. One to lead, one to whisper, and one to kill. A three-man army. All first defenses, Human and Angle alike, will be rent to provide sanctuary for the Dark King. When Lucifer’s power returns he will find his vessel and lead the second charge. The Thrice-broken bow before him, their job done. The apocalypse can begin,” Castiel finished, then looked around for a moment, confused about what to do next. Dean pulled him back as Jack leaned back to think.   
  


“Bow?” Jack muttered, “He wants us to ‘bow before him’ that self-righteous arse!” He said angrily.

“That’s what you're angry about?” Mark asked, stepping up in front of him, “Did you not hear the part about ‘The thrice broken’? He put us here to torture us into breaking a third time! THREE TIMES!”

“You know that torture doesn’t bother me, brother,” Jack said lowly, standing up to match Mark’s height, “The part that bothers me, should bother _you_ , is us being used,”

“Of course we where being used, all demons are being used. But he’s done more than that!” Mark argued back, shadows condensing. The surprising thing for the others, though, was Jack still seemed perfectly human, a perfectly angry human.

“Your right, at least Lilith, and all the other demons, where named in revelations. What am I, just ‘the Killer’, an attack dog?!” Jack seemed to sober up for a moment, realizing his anger, as he sat down, and spoke in a more resigned tone. Thinking over his life, Dark noticed out of the corner of his eye Sam and Dean perking up and talking about Jack being ‘the killer’ “He did more than use us, he created us, honed us, just to be tools,” He said quietly.

"Jack, he _needs_ to pay for what he's done to us," Mark said lowly, a ring to the air. Jack looked up at Mark and saw the darkness in his eyes.

“Calm down. Remember, dark emotions are bad for you,” Jack said, dully, almost a whisper, like he was tired. He was verily even looking at Mark, just enough to notice the black eyes, just thinking. Mark let out a hot breath, willing himself to calm down. Focusing on what was happening.

“Yep, yeah,” Mark sighed out, slowly going to sit down on the floor. One leg like he was was going to go crosslegged, but the other was bent up so his arm could drape across it. His other hand was loosely held against his face, covering his eyes. Chica trotted up to him and leaned up against him, "… just like old times," Mark said, jack made a sound that could only be described as a defeated, nostalgic chuckle.

Marked move his hand from over his eyes after a good minute, looking up to Jack, “Am I good?” 

“Yep,” Jack said nodding, then his eyes shifted. The resignation left, and was replaced by just a hint of determination, “So on with the story then, what’s this got to do with the hunters and the little birdy?” Castiel looked around the room, presumably for a little birdy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the deal I’ve made for myself. Every chapter has to be at least 500 words and no more than 2000. I know that’s not very many, but for me, it's kinda hard to write 5000 word long chapters. I don’t know how to write fluffy stuff that doesn’t matter to the story, which is why this fic might seem a bit fast-paced. I’m trying to get better, but, for now, the chapters are all going to be short.
> 
> Also, I could probably make them longer, but it would take me longer to do. So I’ve chosen daily release in trade for longer chapters. But if you guys want longer ones, I should be able to do that about twice a week, maybe.
> 
> Also also, daily releases now means everyday minus weekends. It seems like writing on the weekends and posting on the weekdays works well for me.
> 
> THANKS FOR READING!!!


	22. Wonderful Boss

“Hellhounds have been hunting me down. At first, I thought it was because of the whole ‘King of the Crossroads, people kind of hated me’ thing,” Mark said.

“No, don’t sell yourself short! You were a wonderful boss, everyone loved you,” Jack said seriously, they looked each other in the eyes for a moment gravely. Then they busted out laughing.

“Yeah, so many satisfied customers,” Mark chuckled.

“Don’t I know it, every single one of them came down my way,” Jack said, laughing harder, the anger of a few minutes ago gone. Sam stepped forwards.

“I’ve been wondering about that. If you were ‘the king of the crossroads’,” He pointed at Mark, “Than what were you and- uh- Felix?” 

“No- Sammy,” Dean tried to stop him.

“I was the head torturer, I trained all the wee ones and broke all the strong ones,” Jack said, a manic glee rushing through his eyes for a second before it was instantly forced back. Guilt pushing him to look away, glancing at Dean, then away again. Mark picked up where he left off. Wanting to give him time away from that topic.

“Felix was like- umm- like a drill sergeant mixed with an enlister mixed with a general. He trained the armies, built them, and commanded them,” Mark said.

“The one to Lead,” Bobby said, with a nod to himself, “The one to whisper, the dealmaker and corrupter,” He looked at Mark, Mark gave him a near glare, “The one to kill, the torturer,” He looked at Jack, Jack turned his head away, staring at the floor resolutely “The three-man army. Makes more sense now. Hell of a family you’ve got there,” He said, almost a whisper.

“You should see the holidays, grandma is not to be messed with,” Jack said, trying a joke to get past the old memories, his voice was a tad choked. A look of horror passed over their faces at the thought of the demons having a grandma.

“He’s lying,” Mark said quickly, “we don’t have any relatives,”

“Now you’re lying, I have relatives. They died 600 years ago, but relatives they were,” Jack said matter-of-factly.

“True, now on with the story, no more interruptions,” Mark said with determination, “The hunters heard about the attacks, popped down to my side of the country. Thought it was me and Chica, threatened me and mostly her. Brought me here, and told me what was going on. I told them my past and about the bindings, about how they’re breaking,” He said the last bit seriously, truly seriously. Jack gave him an appraising look, checking for something only the demon brothers could see. 

“Yeah, you’re right. We need to find Jules,” Jack said, smiling a little, “Been a while since last we talked. Think they still look the same?”

“Knowing them? Not a chance,” Mark chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question-  
> It’s kinda obvious by now that the alter egos are just the past versions of Jack, Mark, and Felix. Jack was called Anti, Mark was called Dark. But the problem is Felix! I was just going to call him Die because pewdiepie and all that. But that seems a bit… too on the nose, I guess. But the only other thing I can think of to call him is BeastMaster, and while that is a hilarious call back to my favorite pewdiepie video, and it kinda makes sense cause he was the master of all military demons, I’m not sure if it would be too great of a name. But I can’t think of anything else, any thoughts? (I know it might be hard to come up with one since you don’t know the backstory I made for him, but anything helps!)
> 
> THANKS FOR READING


	23. Olivia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter has been Beta read!! I'd like to thank Raena_Fae for being the best beta reader, and reader in general, out there! So thanks so much for all your help!
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who as managed to read this far, I hope you all are liking it!

“Uh, who’s Jules?” Dean asked, “The witch? I thought she was some creepy looking little girl?”

“ _They_ change forms a lot, but they always go by Jules,” Mark said, “They’re in Chicago still. Chances are they know we’re coming,”

“Then let’s roll,” Dean said, stepping forward, “Chicago isn’t too far, let’s get this one done quick.”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Bobby piped up, setting his hand on Dean’s shoulder, “I had meant to ask you this when you got here, but what with Caspar the friendly demon here, I was gonna wait till later. But I need some help before you leave. A friend of mine, Olivia Lowrey, I’ve been trying to get ahold of her, but she hasn’t been answerin’. It’s not like her.” 

“Olivia Lowrey, the hunter?” Sam asked Bobby, who nodded.

“I’m gonna go check on her, and I wanted you two to come with. If something got Olivia than it’ll take more than one man, I was hoping you boys would equate to at least one, so what do you think?” Bobby continued. Mark hadn’t met these people before, but he knew how hunters worked from personal experience. They were like a team. Not to say that they liked each other, but they would help each other when the time came. Mark was going to have to wait a bit before the hunters would help them find Jules. 

“We’ll help, Bobby,” said Sam, nodding. Jack rolled his eyes.

“What about our, uh, guests here?” Dean asked, gesturing vaguely towards Jack and Mark, “I would say leave them here, but they seem really dumb,” Jack and Mark’s jaws dropped in synch, glancing at each other then back to Dean. Dean stiffened a chuckle with his hand, Sam gave him an annoyed glare.

“You’re right, they’ll trash the house if we leave em’,” said Bobby. Jack scoffed and put his hand on his chest. Clearly offended… if you had never heard of _acting_. “It’ll only be a matter of time before they break the trap we’d put around them. Just bring them along, it’ll be safer if we watch them, anyway,” Bobby had a gruff tone, but it seemed to Mark like he was trusting them more. Which was… surprising.

“Okay then, y'all get in the Impala, I’ll lead the way,” Bobby said, starting to head up the stairs, “She doesn’t live too far away, if we’re lucky it won’t take too long.”

“Okay, so, uh, demon dic—YouTubers, and uh, hellhound,” said Dean, turning around to face them. Mark had stood up, and Jack had walked over to the wall of the basement to pull his knife out of it, “You’ve been upgraded to Business Class. You’ll share the back seat, the trunk won’t fit all three of you,” Jack looked at Mark, tucking his knife into the back of his jeans.

“The trunk?” said Jack, holding back laughter, “You let them keep you in the trunk?”

“It was a mutual choice,” Mark responded defensively, “The interior of that car wasn’t up to my standards,” Mark said turning his nose up, Jack laughed a little louder. When Mark glanced over at Dean he was met with a very offended look. It would probably rank top ten in the ‘most offended people he had ever seen’ list. 

“Hey! Don’t talk shit about Baby?! And—and you whined the whole way here too about her smelling like holy water!” Dean said, then turned away to head upstairs. Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder when he walked by him, “We’re getting some pie for the way there. They,” He pointed to Mark and Jack, “Are not getting _any_.” Sam laughed a little but tried to keep a serious look on his face as he nodded. Once Dean was upstairs, Sam glanced at the demons and nodded his head at the stairs. 

The demons took the hint and climbed them, Chica went rushing past them nearly tripping Sam as she went. Mark thought he heard the hunter whisper behind them.

“This is gonna be a fun road trip.”


	24. completely, entirely, impossibly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another magnificently betaed chapter!

The beginning of the trip to the house was spent in awkward silence, only filled by the light thumping of Metallica through the speakers and Chica’s panting. Jack and Mark sat in the back, Chica between them, staring out the side windows.

To Mark’s dismay, the interior of the impala was actually pretty nice, which made his ‘sick’ comeback to Jack’s earlier teasing completely null and void. But, with a little help from Chica’s majestic fur, Mark would make the back of the Impala slightly less well kept by the end of this journey. So, that was something to look forward to. 

About twenty minutes into the ride Sam broke the silence, “So… what is your guys’ experience with hunting?” He asked as he looked at them through the rearview mirror.

“Really, that’s all you could think to ask, Sammy?” Dean commented, Sam glared at him for a moment before looking back at the demons. Dean was right, this was a pretty unnecessary question. It was obvious that they knew a lot more than the hunters ever would about the supernatural, but Mark knew Sam was just using this little question as a stepping stone for bigger ones. So he just answered, hoping Jack would follow along.

“I’ve never hunted anything, mostly, uh— well, they came to me. But, I can handle myself,” Mark answered, then looked at Jack, trying to silently tell him to answer. 

“I didn’t hunt much either, I mean recreationally sure, but not like you guys do,” Jack shrugged, keeping his eyes trained outside, “I wouldn’t say I’m useless in a fight though,” Mark chuckled a little, Useless in a fight is something Jack _definitely_ was not. Sam nodded thoughtfully as the silence reclaimed its throne.

Just the idle noise of the engine and music.

“What do we have to look out for?” Dean asked abruptly, not even glancing at the rearview mirror as he drove on. Mark and Jack looked at each other, both crinkling their eyes in confusion before looking back up at Dean.

“I beg your pardon?” Mark asked.

“What was that? It’s not the 1800’s anymore, Mark,” Jack whispered to him. Mark shoved him softly.

“No _shit_. Shut up, asshole, I panicked,” Mark whispered back. 

“Hey! Lisa, Bart— focus!” Dean scolded them. When Mark looked back up Dean was watching them through the mirror. Dean rolled his eyes and looked away, “I mean, it’s pretty obvious you guys have trouble handling your demon-ness, so what do we have to watch out for so you don’t go all American Psycho on us, and how bad would it be if you do?”

“Ohh…” Jack said, trailing off as he thought. Now, this was closer to the bigger questions Mark was dreading, “Uh, You tell em’, Mark! You’re way better at explaining all this stuff anyway.”

“Thanks, bro,” said Mark, glaring at Jack, who responded with a smile before looking back out the window awkwardly. 

“Well… you see, uh,” Mark didn’t know how to describe this, It should be simple, but thinking about what triggers your psychotic brakes wasn’t really on his ‘things to do’ list, “For me, it’s dark emotions. Really strong ones, anger, hate, stuff like that. If I did… snap, then I would— I don’t know what I’d do, which is kinda, no, _really_ the problem. I would just do whatever best suited me at the time, I guess, no matter what that pertained to… Dark-me is not really all that moral of a guy,” 

“So just keep you happy, got it,” Sam nodded, “Easy enough,” Jack barked out a laugh, looking at Sam with incredulous eyes.

“Sure, say that again when you’re in the middle a normal argument and suddenly you’re dealing with fecking darkness incarnate,” Jack scoffed.

“Okay, I’m not _that_ bad,” Mark shook his head, Jack just rolled his eyes and said “Uh-huh, sure, _Darky_ , you’re lucky denial isn’t a dark emotion,”

“Okay, well, if you’re so great then, tell them your triggers, _Anti_ ” Mark retorted childishly. Sam and Dean were just sitting up front, silently wondering why this was happening to them.

Jack stared Mark down for a moment, waiting to see if he was serious or not. Once he decided he was he turned to look back up front and thought for a moment, trying to decide how to word it.

“Basically,” Jack started, drawing out the word to bide time, “Well, to be frank, I was kinda insane back when I was a demon. And by kinda I mean completely, entirely, impossibly, fecking crazy. And by back when I was a demon, I mean before I returned to the human world,”

“So you’re saying you weren’t… as stable as you are now ever, not even when you were alive?” Sam clarified.

“When I was about. . . 5? I had a close encounter with a serial killer and that’s kinda where everything went to shit,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love backstories, origin stories, flashbacks… pretty much anything involving that. I’d say I’m probably one of the few people on earth that was disappointed that the Tom Holland Spiderman movies didn’t start with an origin story.
> 
> Based on season 4 episode 2 of supernatural.


	25. Lucky Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some child abuse and violence to children stuff… sorry
> 
> Chapter written in advance: 1
> 
> Date of next publication: 10/15/2020
> 
> THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN BETAED!!

Sèan had a happy childhood. His first year was spent mostly being held by his parents, the second was fairly similar but it involved more self-created movement. The third was when things started getting interesting… well, from a toddler’s point of view, since Séan was now allowed to follow his father to work on the farm through the trees. The fourth was about the same as the third, however, he talked a lot more. 

Really, it was a quiet first few years. Just about how you would want a kid’s childhood to go. Playing, laughing, joking, and just living carefree as he ran through the fields of Ireland. 

He was five when his life became truly interesting.

He was out and about, playing and running. Doing whatever nonsensical things a young boy’s brain could think up as he waited outside for dinner to be ready. At this particular moment, he was throwing a rock and running as fast as he could in an attempt to catch it before it hit the ground (usually he failed) and then throwing it again. He repeated this again, multiple times. He referred to it as ‘dogless fetch’. His friends had been very impressed when he showed this to them. Séan could understand that reaction; he was pretty impressive. 

Sèan was doing his normal rounds, running back and forth and throwing rocks, until one throw went just a tad too far. The stone had found its way into the forest by his house. Now, most would just grab a new rock, but that wasn’t really an option in Séan’s case.

This was Sèan’s lucky rock. He’d had this rock for _three full days_ already! Most rocks he had lost after three _throws_ , so that must mean something big! It was, also, the perfect size, twice as big as his hand, and thin, which of course made it the perfect catching stone. One time, Séan had even managed a self-catch, that’s what it was called when you caught the rock in dogless fetch (the game was catching on and other children had insisted on terminology being created for the more serious games), with this rock. He couldn’t risk getting a new rock! No rock could ever best his lucky rock, It was too powerful! Some other children might find Sèan's perfect stone and then _they_ would have an unfair advantage!

So Sèan bravely walked into the trees… the dark, scary, wolf-infested trees. He held his arms close to himself, wrapped tightly in a self hug. He kept his eyes on the ground, looking vigilantly for his rock. It was getting colder, there was no grass on the ground anymore, so searching was easy... in theory.

He walked forwards, stepping over fallen branches. It was getting dark out and there was still no sign of his rock. Sèan stubbornly clung to thoughts of his lucky rock. He scrunched his face in determination and released his anxious hug. He could do this. Papa walked through these trees every day just to go to the farm! The stone was much more important than the crops, so it was obvious to Sèan that he should not be scared. 

There was a snap from behind him. Sèan whipped around. He hadn’t noticed how far from home he had gotten. He couldn’t see the end of the forest or the light from his house anymore. He spun around in a circle, maybe he had just gotten turned around and his house was the other way?

Nothing, just darkness. Complete darkness. It was silent. Sèan hadn’t noticed how quiet it was. Papa always said to be careful when it was quiet, that there could be a wolf around. Sèan wanted to run home, and he almost did. But his stone… he couldn’t leave it here.

There was another snap, closer this time.

But he could, however, run and search at the same time. So he ran, as fast as he could, in the direction he thought Home was. The stone couldn’t have gone too far, it was a lucky stone so it would land close, of course. So if he ran back home it should be nearby somewhere. Hopefully.

Snap. Closer more.

Sèan had seen a wolf before, watching him through the trees some 50 feet away. When he’d told his parents later they just patted him on the head for his active imagination and chuckles. But he knew it had happened. He had stared it in the eyes from the short grass outside of his house. The wolf stared back. It blinked, turned away, and disappeared back into the woods. It was quiet and beautiful. He didn’t remember hearing any snapping sounds then.

Two snaps. Sèan ran faster.

If the rock was really lucky, it would find him instead of him having to find it. It was too dark to see, but home shouldn’t be far now, just a few more steps.

“Sèan!” He heard his mother yell from the other direction. Sèan stumbles. Falls. “Dinner’s ready!”

Crack. Right behind him.

Something grabs his hair, pulling his head up. And then: pain. 

Sharp pain from a gash on his neck. Warmth running down his throat. Séan watched helplessly as a red puddle formed at his feet. The hand holding his head let go and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt.

Almost gently he leaned Sèan on a tree, letting him see his attacker. He was tall, very tall, with brown hair and average clothes. He didn’t look like anyone Sèan knew. The man kneeled in front of him, smiling as he looked into Sèan’s dying eyes. He stood, then walked away. Things were fuzzy for young Séan after that.

He was having trouble moving, thinking, and even just breathing. He wanted to call for help, but nothing was happening.

“Sèan! Your father will eat it all if you don’t come home soon!”

It was getting colder out… darker… and quieter.

“Sèan! Where are you?”

-

He never found his lucky rock. He guessed it wasn’t very lucky at all, then, if it hadn’t saved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve given Jack an obsession with rocks it seems… Please forgive me, it was unintentional.
> 
> Also, umm….sorry...


	26. Existing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would make the serial killer a YouTuber, but I don’t want to decide ‘hey, Rhett for GMM, you’re the serial killer now’ it just seems weird. So the Serial killer is of my own design
> 
> BETAED!

Everything was dark for a while. Just cold and silent and distant. Like Séan was floating through a deep lake and couldn’t see the surface. But he wasn’t drowning. Just floating, existing. And it was calm, so much calmer than his memories, memories full of red. 

Sèan wondered if this was death. He was young but he’d heard it mentioned before. He had heard of people dying, hadn’t understood it, so maybe this was it? He didn’t see any angels or the bright white light that his mother spoke about it, but it was nice. Just darkness and peace: quiet. It was nice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Sèan…”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Sèan, please wake up,”

  
  
  
  
  


“ _Please,_ ” 

  
  
  


The peace waned away as he drifted to the surface. The darkness was breaking to let light through. Sounds were becoming clearer, his thoughts more coherent.

“Wake up for me…” It was his mother’s voice. Sèan recognized it now, it was definitely her voice. 

He opened his eyes. It was hard, harder than it had ever been. It was like there were weights on his eyelids. But he did it anyway, he wanted to see. _Needed_ to see. He had to know if he was still in the woods.

He wasn’t. He was at his house, on his bed. Maybe it had all been a dream? His mother was sitting beside him on a chair. She was draped across him, her head on his chest as she cried. Her hand was fisted in his shirt as she shook from sobbing. He could hear her mumbling muffled words against him.

Sèan tried to talk, opened his mouth to, made all the proper moves to say ‘It’s okay, Ma,’ but nothing happened. Nothing came out. It was just silence and a sharp pain in his neck. He hadn’t noticed until he tried talking but it hurt. His neck _burned_ , the worst pain he had ever felt in his whole life. 

It wasn’t a dream, then. 

It had happened.

A man in the forest had slit his throat and left him for dead. But he wasn’t dead, he had lived. Someone had found him. Had dragged him out of the forest and brought him back to life. And now his mom was crying over him, and he needed to tell her he was okay.

But he couldn’t. Couldn’t say a thing. 

So he lifted his small hand instead, even if it felt like it was tied to the bed. Like something was trying to stop him from lifting it. He was so tired, he had lost so much blood. But Sèan had to comfort his Ma. So he pushed through the weakness, limply setting his hand on the hand tightly gripping his shirt.

His mother froze immediately, her sobbing stopping short in surprise. She slowly lifted her head to look up at Sèan. Her face was red and tears were falling down her cheeks but she was smiling now. Her eyes bright again. She rushed to pull Sèan into a hug.

It hurt, jostled something that didn’t want to be jostled, but he enjoyed it anyway. It was warm, and it was safe, and it was Ma. He loosely wrapped his little arms around her, with nothing near the same amount of force as her, but with just as much enthusiasm.

Sèan didn’t know how long Ma hugged him, but eventually, she released him. Moving her hands up to his face, gently cupping either cheek as she looked down at him. Happy and sad tears mingling as they fell on to Sèan’s face as she smiled.

“I was so worried,” Her voice was ragged from the sobbing, but it was still gentle and sweet, as always, “Do you feel okay?”

Sèan didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Ma’s eyebrows knotted in concern. She waited for a second longer, hoping it was just his confusion. It wasn’t.

“Sèan? Say something…” She said weakly, running her hand over his forehead to move his bangs aside. They were getting too long, almost covering his eyes, she should cut them soon.

Sèan didn’t try to say anything this time, knowing it wouldn’t work. Knowing that it would only hurt, so he sat silent. He stared silently at her, trying to convey this with his eyes. Sadness, then worry, washed back over his Ma’s face. She pulled her hands away from his face to gently tuck the blanket in around him.

“You’ll be okay, just— don’t w— you’ll be okay,” She said, looking at Sèan one last time before she hurried into the other room.

Sèan sat in the warmth of his bed, listening to his ma’s muffled whispering from the living room. He had a moment to think now. To process what just happened to him.

“Doctor, he’s not talking,” drifted the voice of his Ma through the door. Sèan tried to ignore it, knowing eavesdropping was bad, “That’s not like him,”

He knew it was all real now, the man, the fear, the pain. Sèan noticed now there was cloth around his neck, a bandage so he wouldn’t start bleeding out again. It was uncomfortable, it itched. But the itching was better than the pain. All of this over one little stone… 

“The damage may have been worse than I thought,” The doctor’s accented, yet thoughtful voice responded, “He may never be able to speak again… I’m sorry ma’am,” His mother didn’t respond, but he could feel her silent trembling. 

Sèan started crying, not like his mother’s wracked sobs from before. Just silent tears rolling down his face as he stayed perfectly still and stared at the ceiling. Sèan would never talk again, never be the same again. 

Sèan closed his eyes and went to sleep, tears still rolling down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack grew up around 1240 Ireland, so all of this has been spoken in Irish, just like everything of Mark’s backstory was in Korean. Just to clear things up


	27. Burnt Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed!

Being quiet was never in Sèan’s nature. He was always joking, and talking, and laughing. Now he was just silent. He was _always_ silent. He couldn’t stand it, he spent a month just sitting and thinking about how much he _hated_ it. But he could bounce back! His ma said he could, his pa said he was strong! He could do this, he just had to act like he always did and he would get over it. He could do it if he tried!

So he stood up from his bed, the one he had verily moved from in weeks, and went into the kitchen. Ma was there, sitting at the dining table and knitting. She looked up at him and smiled brightly, reaching over to supportively put her hand on his shoulder, then moved it to his cheek. Sèan smiled back, but it was difficult— like his face wasn’t meant to smile anymore. But he did it anyway, just a short little smile, but it was something!

Sèan lifted his arm, and pointed towards the door, looking back to his ma and raising his eyebrows questioningly. She stared at the door, thinking. Thinking about what could happen out there. Then she looked back at him and nodded. She ruffled his hair and pushed him towards the door.

He ambled awkwardly outside, gently shutting the door behind him. 

It was cold, but not too cold. The sun was shining brightly, a few clouds, the wind gently whistled through the trees.

  
  


The trees.

  
  
  


Those trees… 

  
  


Just like—

  
  


Sèan shook himself out of those thoughts. It was a nice day! No reason to get too caught up in the past. The sun was just past mid-sky, which meant his friends would be at the creek. So he ran there, away from the eerie trees.

It was a normal path, the one he always took. It had been worn down from him and his friends running back and forth on it. Just a grassy path that led to the creek. It was normal. So normal. He had missed this.

The meeting spot looked just like always. A creek gently meandering between two fields, a few sparse trees with ropes tied from the branches, with a little log bridging the two sides of it. 

His friends were playing; they were running around, hiding in the tall dead grass swinging on the ropes in an attempt to jump to the other side of the creek and running as fast as they can across the log back, and snagging little animals and fish from the waters of the creek just to throw them back. Two of them seemed to even be playing dogless fetch!

Sèan ran up to them, skidding to a stop just where the tall grass turned into waterlogged sand from the creek. All but four of the seven children playing noticed him. They froze and stared at him with wide eyes. Sèan waved enthusiastically, then started over to the log the kids had placed there as a bridge. 

Then Susan, one of the older girls who they played with, _screamed_. Pointing at Sèan, shaking.

“MONSTER! It’s a demon here to eat us all!” She screamed out, grabbing onto the boy closest to her, Malcolm’s, sleeve. Pulling onto it sharply in an attempt to get him to run away with them. 

The kids who had yet to notice Sèan turned around to see him. Two of them, Simon and Allison, ran off. Another started crying.

No… 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was okay! Was it the bandages? But it couldn’t be, he was just like normal. Sèan wanted to start crying again. He stopped his dash to the other side of the creek.

Malcolm grabbed onto her gently, her calming down as she looked up at him, confused. Sèan had a moment of hope. Maybe, she was just scared! But maybe the others would understand. Malcolm looked at him sharply, then turned to the two kids standing by the log on their side of the creek.

Sèan waited... They would understand. 

“Pull up the bridge!” Malcolm yelled out. Sèan wanted to scream, or run away, or defend himself, but he couldn’t. Two of the kids nodded, pushing away their fear to grab onto the log and started pulling. Sèan dashed forward, stopping just before he stepped onto it. But thought better of it at the last second. He didn’t want them to be scared, he didn’t _want to be_ scary. So he stopped and watched them pull the bridge up. Tears rolling down his face.

Silently.

Malcolm glared at him. The other four kids hid behind him once they knew Sèan couldn't get over to them.

“Don’t come back,” He said. Sèan turned and ran away.


	28. Squirrel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence to Animals, Violence to Children
> 
> Chapters written in advance: 0.5
> 
> Date of next publication: 10/23/2020
> 
> Betaed.

Sèan couldn’t go home. Ma would be concerned and he couldn’t tell her what was wrong. He could never tell her anything with words again. So he ran until he tripped into the creek. Blinded by his own tears and soundless sobbing, Séan hadn’t noticed the root until he’d already fallen over it. 

He was covered in mud from the water. He was cold and miserable. He sat, hands wrapped around himself and curled into a ball, shaking. Not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of his emotions. Ones he couldn’t even express aloud anymore. Sean wanted these feelings gone so desperately. 

His mind was in a panic. Needing to do something, _anything_ , to get rid of these feelings.

Sèan would do anything if it could get rid of the emotions. Even for just a moment.

He stood up quickly, considered running again but he knew that wouldn’t help. He kicked at the river. Pulled at the grass, his hair, the bandages on his neck. Until he reached down and grabbed a rock and threw it as hard as he could.

It hit a tree with an audible thud and a sharp crack. He stepped back, his panic fading as he stared at the dent in the distant tree. The pale yellow notch stood out from the brown of the dying bark. Séan watched as a little branch and a couple leaves drifted to the ground from the impact.

He grabbed another rock and threw it. He missed the tree. He grabbed another, swinging harder. Putting his whole body into it. It nicked the side of the tree, a cracking sound following it. So he threw and threw and threw. Making sound. Affecting the world. He kept throwing rocks till he couldn’t find anymore, breathing heavily from the exertion. Finally calm.

He looked around, taking in his environment only now, an hour after he had arrived. He couldn’t see far, the grass too tall and him too short. He could really only see the few thin trees around him and the path of the creek. 

So he looked for a place to get up higher, a vantage point. It took a few minutes of stumbling around, pushing through the grass and deciding against climbing trees until he found a boulder.

It was around his height. Partially hidden in the tall dead grass, he had never seen it before. After a second of debate, he climbed to the top. It was slippery, with only a few footholds, but Sèan was athletic for his age and the top of the rock was flat. So he managed it easily enough.

From here he could see pretty far, above the grass and shrubbery. He could see the trees. He was in a meadow, vacant of living plants from the winter, dotted with trees that got denser the farther down the creek they went. Only a couple hundred meters away was another forest. He and his ‘friends’ had never been this far, their parents told them not to. It was too close to the lake and the parents didn’t want their kids there till they were older. 

This made it a perfect spot. The perfect spot to hide out, to think. To throw things at trees. 

He sat down on his boulder and thought until he realized something. His friends were right. He must be a monster. The enemy they would rather run and hide from instead of face. And he was okay with that. He would let them think what they wanted as long as he could sit alone on his little boulder.

-

When he got home, his mother tentatively asked him if he had fun. He nodded, smiling. She smiled back, fixed his bandages, and handed him a bowl of soup.

-

Every day Sèan went back to his boulder. Collecting stones on the way, using his dogless fetch skills to pick perfect rocks, and gathering them on top of the boulder. He stood on the flat surface and threw them. At first, they were just wild, senseless throws. Aiming only to make a reaction, to see the splinter of trees. The splash of water. Rippling of the grass or a splat of mud. 

The pure, violent acts of a young, voiceless boy.

This went on for weeks.

But then it became more refined. He started aiming, trying to hit the same dented spot on the tree over and over again. He got better. Started aiming farther, taking harder shots. Hitting single leaves from branches. Hitting a falling leaf before it could touch the ground. Knocking the head off a long-dead flower. Hitting another rock in midair. 

Soon it became a mindless task. Easy, skillful, dull, useless. But then he missed. He hit a red squirrel instead.

It fell from the tree with a loud squeak.

He jumped off his boulder, rushing through the dead grass and withered plants to it. He made it there in only a few seconds, he had learned the area pretty well in the last few weeks. 

He slid to a halt on his knees in front of the squirrel. It was still alive, breathing, but not moving. Just staring at him with its dark eyes. Sèan didn’t know what to do. He had just injured a little animal. He couldn’t bring it home, that would be too far and his mother would start questioning where he goes every day. And he definitely couldn’t fix it himself. 

Then he had an idea.

He stood up and dug a large stone from his pocket. He raised it high over his head. Lined it up. Dropped it.

The squirrel didn’t make a sound.

-

Many more animals were hit after that.

-

Sèan was sitting on his rock. This wasn’t a throwing day. It was a thinking day. One where he just sat and listened to the caw of the crows. They had started showing up more and more around here after Sèan started throwing at more mobile targets than trees. 

He liked thinking sometimes. Just watching the environment around him, and trying to figure things out.

He still had his throwing rock pile by him, he was amassing quite a collection. He liked to always keep plenty of throwing rocks with him after he saw a fox run by. He had managed a few good hits, but he ran out of rocks before he could knock it down. It had disappeared and he hadn't seen it for weeks, but he wanted to be ready for the next time it came by. So he had started saving ten rocks every day for a stockpile.

It was lucky he decided to do that.

In the middle of a particularly interesting internal debate about if milk soup was better than broth soup something smacked him in the center of his back.

It didn’t hurt, but the shock was enough to stun him. Another hit, this time to his arm.

Sèan looked around wildly, seeing movement in the grass. Hearing the snickering and last-minute planning between the seven kids who had come to taunt him. He shoved as many rocks as he could into his pockets, then dived off the boulder. 

The high ground would be nice, but it would be much easier for them to hit him. This would limit his superior aim, but he still had advantages. He knew the land, he could react faster because he didn’t have to decide who the enemy was before he threw, and he knew that the kids didn’t expect him to fight back.

So fight back he did. He dove through the grass, sneaking through it like a fox. Listening for any more giggling. They had quieted down, looking for him as well. So he changed his tactic and started listening for the movement instead.

Snap!

To his left. A few feet. He hefted a thin rock into his hand and threw it at the sound. It whizzed through the brittle twigs and hit with a thud and a shriek of pain. It sounded like Susan. There was a rustle of grass as she ran away, probably heading back for the safety of their usual play area.

Sèan, in the moment he took to reorient himself after the attack, was tackled from behind. Pushed harshly into the cold dirt and thick underbrush.

It was Malcolm. 

He punched Sèan sharply in his face. It didn’t hurt, just the weak nudge of an 8-year-old fist, but it was enough to make Sèan angry. He pushed Malcolm away, rolling on top of him instead. He fisted a rock into his hand, and hit Malcolm in return. His nose broke with a sickly crack. Blood gushed out of it. 

Two other boys grabbed Sèan’s arms before he could do any more damage and hauled him up. They were older than him, strong enough that Sèan wasn’t much of a match. But he fought uselessly in their hold anyway as Malcolm stood. Holding his bloody crooked nose as tears ran down his dark eyes. 

The two boys held Sèan still as Malcolm hit him wildly. Not managing to do any permanent damage, but letting loose the anger and pain seemed to be enough for Malcolm. Until Sèan started quaking. 

“He’s crying, what a baby,” Malcolm tried to chuckle, wiping away his own blood infused tears. Sèan shook his head, facing the ground. He had grown tired while defending himself, more so from being hit. But he still shook his head. No, he wasn’t crying.

Malcolm dragged his head up by the hair. Sèan was laughing, silent as it was, but it was obvious. He was laughing— at Malcolm, or himself, or the situation, or maybe even the pain? No one knew, not even Sèan, but he was laughing.

Malcolm let go and gestured to the two other boys.

“Drop him, let’s go already.” 

Sèan fell to the ground, curling into a ball as he laughed silently. 

He came home hours later. Smiling brightly. 

His thinking day had paid off.

-

That wasn’t the only attack. Just the first.

It became a weekly occurrence.

Each attack was more organized, less for fun and more so for revenge now. For the other kids, anyway. For Sèan, it was all for fun. More noses were broken, arms were snapped, children were sent home crying to clueless parents, and Malcolm got angrier.

Losses on both sides, but slowly one side started coming out on top more often. Sèan started winning. He started planning further, practicing harder, enjoying himself more. His skills became honed to the task of beating the other children and his fighting techniques refined themselves. And with that, he became more and more ruthless. More and more methodical. More and more bloodthirsty. Until he took that final step. 

When one of Sèan’s wins turned deadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is up with me and rocks? 
> 
> No… it’s not me. It’s the character. Sèan is obsessed with rocks! Yeah! That’s canon now, for the whole entire fandom!! 
> 
> Everyone, make sure that all your fanfics clearly show that young Sèan is obsessed with rocks!


	29. Knives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not been betaed, and I haven't really edited it too much myself either. And I am incredibly sorry about that. I haven't had that much time this week because of a school project, but I wanted to at least get this chapter out here. I will repost the chapter once it has been edited soon, so you can wait for that if you want.
> 
> The bad news is, is that I am still working on the project, and I will be for two weeks. So I can't promise when the next chapter will be out. But I promise I will finish this fic!!!
> 
> So please enjoy this chapter, and please comment if you see a plot hole or a spelling error (it'll really help)!!!
> 
> Thanks for waiting for me!

On a thinking day, he realized something as he idly fidgeted with a rock. It wasn’t the number of rocks he had that stopped him from killing larger animals. It was the rocks themselves.

With that, he quickly searched through his stock until he found a good one. He had seen his pa make knives before. It was simple enough. HIt one rock against another till it broke into sharp bits, then sharpen the best bit, finally wrap the bottom part to protect your hand. That was simple enough. Sèan could do that!

The next week was spent perfecting his knife making technique. It was harder than expected.

But then, finally, it was done. It took 20 perfectly good stones and a few nearly smashed fingers. But, he had it. A knife.

It was a bit bent, the grip wasn’t very nice (it was made of breaded grass), and it wasn’t as sharp as he’d like it to be. But it was perfect!

He tested it out on the fox the next day. 

Success!

-

Relearning how to throw knives instead of rocks took time. A month, to be specific. The weather was starting to warm up again, plants coming back to life, by the time he was able to throw like he used to.

But it was worth it. The slice of a knife was a thousand times better than any dull rock.

-

With the warming weather, it was time for his pa to journey to the neighboring town and restock. Sèan had never gone with him before, he had never even left their small village! He had always watched his pa leave from the porch, waving after the horse-drawn cart. 

This year, however, was different! His pa had asked him to come along! Sèan, of course, nodded enthusiastically in response. Running up to the cart, one of his knives cleanly hidden in his waistband and under his shirt. 

He gave Sam, the Clydesdale, a friendly pat on this side and then jumped up onto the cart bench.

His pa stepped up and sat on the other side of him, gave him a smile, and flicked the reins.

This would be fun!

-

The ride there was extremely boring. 

But they did pass by Sèan‘s boulder on the way. Maybe people from his village would start passing by? That… would be very bad.

-

The neighboring village was much bigger than his own. More people than had ever seen in one place walked through the wide streets, selling their wares and debating over

It was overwhelming. Animals baying, people arguing, kids running around wildly, vendors shouting out their prices, carts trudging by, horses being led down the dirt streets, chickens scavenging and dodging around the feet of the crowds with dogs chasing behind them, and thousands more things that Sèan verily even understood.

He loved it! He wanted to see everything!

Sèan immediately went to dart off, his pa thwarting his efforts by grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. Leading him and Sam over to a vender. It took only a matter of seconds for Sèan to become bored of the idle debating and start his new escape attempts.

His master plan to escape into the crowd went thusly. 

1.Wait for his father to let him go.

2.Run.

Foolproof.

Of course Sèan magnificent, dare he even say  _ genius _ plan, went superbly. (After 5 failed attempts, and a bit of luck when his pa let go to gesture harshly at the rude trader and seemed to forget about him. But that was beside the point. The thing to focus on was how flawlessly his plan went!)

Sèan racing off silently to see the wonders of this unknown place. 

He weaved amongst feet with the chickens, briefly joined the street children in a game of tag, climbed atop a workhorse just to jump off, listened to an arguement two people were having with words he had never heard!

It was amazing!

But none of it could compare to one vendor. 

The second Sèan saw the glint of the silver and heard the banging of a hammer on anvil he ran to it. It was different from most of the vendors. Others were just carts, people who went from town to town selling, but this man had a whole shop! A building made of cobbled stone and thatch. It smelt like metal powder, sweat, and heat.

It was a blacksmith. 

Horse tac, pig iron, fence wire, and tools all hung from the walls. But what caught Sèan’s attention the knives. There weren’t many, just three thrown into the corner. But they were magnificent, perfection to the like tha had never seen before. Made of silver, handles carved obsidian and well-polished wood, sharpened to a degree Sèan could only dream off. 

He ran his finger down the edge of the blade. Verily even feeling the cut as blood welled because it was so sharp. Sèan was tempted to steal it. But he knew he couldn’t. Even with the blade he still didn’t have the sliver, much less the skills to make one for himself.

Sèan heard the banging of metal deeper in the building.

But he could learn the skills.

He scurried to where the sound was coming from. The building was sweltering, lit only by the firing pit deep in the building, the holes in the ceiling for ventilation, and the occasional oil lamp. But Sèan didn’t care. All he cared about right now was the knives.

The darkroom was full of metal racks with envisioned creations weighing them down, dirt floors, and grimy tools. This made it difficult to find his way. But he managed.

It only took him a minute to find the smith. Sèan his behind a pile of burlap sacks, a good distance away. 

The smith was stout. Short and bulky with close-cut blond hair and a thick apron. He seemed to be in the middle of straightening the blade of a sword. The was close enough to a knife for Sèan.

He managed to stay still and watch for a good ten minutes. It seemed simple. Hit the metal. Heat it, hit it more. Keeping going till it’s straight. Done, as far as Sèan could tell. With that learned Sèan decided it was time to leave, the boredom drawing him to check out the rest of the town.

But then he saw something. On the other side of the smith, about 5 meters away, was an agate of silver. What looked like to Sèan, just enough to make a knife. He’d have to take the risk, there was no way he  _ couldn’t _ get it. He needed that silver. He couldn’t imagine how amazing the knife he would make would be.

So he sneaked out of his hiding spot, lithely. Taking a wide berth around the smith, and sneaking his way through the dark crowded room. The ground was ruff, a dirt floor with holes and rocks and little mounds of dirt. 

Needless to say, he tripped. Getting snagged on an uneven spot of ground and knocking over a bucket of metal with him. 

“Hey!” The smith growled, letting his work set on the anvil, “Damn kids! Last time I tell you, get out of here! It’s dangerous!” The smith marched towards the sound, deftly walking the w the dark room. 

Sèan scampered through his feet, jumping over the fallen tools, and bolted towards the agate. This time making sure to watch his footing, keeping an ear trained on the sounds of the smith looking for him. He was close, but it was dark. Sèan hid deftly in the shadows as he went, just short enough to avoid the light without too much difficulty. 

He stopped right on the edge of the light of the smelting pot. A ring of orange light that would give him away to the smith the second he stepped into it. The agate stood in the middle, on a table surrounded by iron and tools.

He’d have to go for it. This was his only chance. He slipped one toe into the light, then dashed forward. Running the short two meters that separated him and the silver. He reached up to the top of the metal table. It was almost with hin his grasp! 

He couldn’t reach it. It was in the middle of the table, and he was too short!

“Shit,” He whispered, someone had yelled that in the crowd earlier. He jumped up, grabbing onto the table’s edge and kicking his feet wildly in an attempt to get leverage. It was a shaking table, with ruff edges and covered in grim. Probably something the smith had built himself. This means it was more difficult to climb than the boulder, and it cut up his hands. It didn’t hurt much, and it defiantly didn’t hurt enough to get him to stop trying.

He jumped up one last time, consider looking for a bucket to stand on, but then he had an epiphany. He grabbed one leg of the table, near where it connected to the top and pulled. It toppled over easily, poorly built as it was, and he grabbed the agate.

“Oi! You there, get out of here! I told you I’d tell your parents next time you gobshites did this!” The blacksmith yelled, his thunderous steps only a feet away from Sèan. 

Sèan ran as fast as he had ever before, jumping over tools, and diving under a shelf. 

He saw teh blue light of the door, and sprinted through the opening he saw the dense, argueing crowd and looked for his pa.

“Get back here!” He felt a snag on his collar, but he managed to wiggle away and toss himself into the crowd.

-

When his pa questioned the cuts on his hand Sèan just shrugged. His pa let it be, choosing to finish his newest bidding war instead of figuring out what happened.

The rest of the day was comparably boring.

Sèan stayed by his pa for the rest of the day. The feel of the agate he had hidden in his pocket was enough to keep him from running off again. He didn’t want to risk losing it in another chase. So he watched idly by and learned more new words.

-

The ride back was also boring. However, his pa did say that the route they took was a different one than usual. That he didn’t want to take the other because it went the trees, and, while he thought Sèan was very tough, he didn’t want to put him through anything he didn’t have to.

-

After greeting his ma and sitting while his pa recounted their adventures in the city he excused himself and ran outside. 

Each time he went to his boulder he took a new path. He didn’t want a dirt trail being made from his going back and forth. Though, this time he took a short way. A direct path right to his spot. He wanted to get his new prize hidden as quickly as possible. 

He didn’t want to make the silver knife right away. He needed more practice first. Needed to find the perfect Handel. Needed to get the proper materials. That would take time.

So he hid it. He had dug a large hole next to his boulder that he stow his knives and rocks in, but he made a different spot for the silver. He wanted it to be on its own, just in case.

He went ten paces to the north of the boulder, then one right. That’s where he dug. He knew he would remember the spot, but now he just had to wait for the perfect time. He climbed atop the boulder.

Let things go back to normal before he started working. A rock hit him in the back of the head, followed by the giggling of children. And back to normal it was.

-

Sèan avoided using his knives in the weekly attack from the other kids. He didn’t want his ma to be sad when he hurt one. So he didn’t use any of the knives.

And knives he had. He had been making them daily. Allotting half of his day just to make another knife, a. He happily honed his skills, he needed the practice for when he made the silver one. He had around 30 different blades know. Each of them unique. Most of them were fairly dull and rough, but the last three were nearly perfect.

Sharp, with almost no notches. Even the grass braiding on the grip was excellent! 

He looked over the newest knife. Running his finger down the edge of the blade, eliciting the slightest paper cut. He deemed himself ready to make the silver knife.

He had been collecting all the needed equipment over the lat st quarter year (he was six now!) so he was ready. Now all he needed was the materials. He had the agate, but what about the grip, or the core of the blade?

He had been thinking about this, and he decided he wanted only the best for this blade. A breaded grass handle would not do. He wanted it to be made from the antler of a red deer. An animal five times his size and half as deadly. A lot different from the squirrels. But it would be worth it. 

He had seen red deer. They oftened this meadow now that the grass had started to grow back. They always kept their distance from him, sticking to tree lines, but they did seem to be okay with him being in their presence. That would be their fatal mistake. He just had to wait for a sizable buck to venture too close and he would be ready to make his knife.

-

He started leaving for his boulder early, at near dawn when his pa left for work. Then and at dusk was when the deer grazed the most.

So he sat, near statue-still and waited, knives in hand. Deer always came threw at that time. Sika and fallow deer wandered threw, small red doe. A few young bucks with fairly any antlers yet. Never the huge buck Sèan had been waiting for.

He had been growing frustrated. Three weeks had passed with nothing. And with each week he became angrier, his fighting against the children’s attacks becoming more ruthless. He was considering starting to practice his knife skills on them. But he didn’t, his ma would be sad. 

So he just took it and let lose his anger by hitting them just a bit harder than usual. He even broke one of Susan’s fingers, Simon’s arm, and knocked out Malcolm’s tooth all during one attack. It took them a few days to recover from that one.

However, on the fourth week he got lucky. Something big wandered through his meadow in those early mornings.

It wasn’t a deer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	30. Good Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next few chapters are gonna be pretty crazy... watch out. (and By crazy I mean brutal and gross.)

(Violence towards children, self-harm, murder, Anti should really just be a warning tag of his own, etc.)

“Young Sèan,” His doctor called out from across the meadow, thick accent clouding his words, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, most people don’t journey this way, but I’ve always liked this path,” The doctor made his way through the thick grass and towards Sèan. 

Sèan was shocked, to say the least. It was getting close to lunchtime now, but no one ever walked through here. The doctor was closer now, a comfortable talking distance. Sèan was just below eye level on the rock, which was a nice change from having to look up at adults all the time.

“Hello,” The doctor said between catching his breath, the meadow was a hard one to walk through this time of year when it was ravaged with hearty summer plants. Sèan smiled and waved.

“I’ve been making my way around the villages again, and I had decided you might need a check-up. Lucky I spotted you here or I might have been searching all day,” The doctor said cheerfully, “So how is your neck then?”

Sèan shrugged in response. The doctor looked confused for a moment, before nodding his head.

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten, about the-uh, speaking problems,” Forgotten? Forgotten that he had failed? That he had muted him? That he had torn his voice away from him and locked him in a world of loneliness? Bullying? Deafening silence? He had simply forgotten that he ruined Sèan’s life, that was all. 

Nothing to get mad about.

“I am sorry for that. I hadn't noticed how deep the wounds were,” Excuses. Just meaningless words that Sèan couldn’t use. Sèan moved the cold grass grip of one of his blades around behind his back. He shrugged again, giving a downcast smile. The good doctor was studying Sèan’s neck intently, the bandages were gone but it was fairly well hidden behind the collar of his coat.

“May I take a closer look?” 

Sèan nodded, staying on the boulder as the doctor smiled and ambled forward. He set the large bag he was carrying down on the ground beside him.

“Won’t be needing that this time, will we?” He laughed at his joke, then started examining the scars. The year of healing leaving behind a noticeable scar. It was ruff, jagged, and stood out sharply against Sèan’s pale skin. Even the dots from the stitching were noticeable around it. An ugly stain from Sèan’s past, the mark of a deranged killer. It would stay there for the rest of Sèan life.

The doctor was right in front of Sèan, examining the scar. Moving his jacket collar out of the way to see it clearer.

“Healed up perfectly didn’t!? But what can you expect?” The doctor announced happily, “You where lucky I was in town when I was, haha,” 

Sèan supposed there was one good thing that the doctor had caused. His love of knives.

He plugged one into his neck with a sick sort of noise and a squeak from the doctor that Sèan would fascinate over for weeks. 

The doctor stared up at Sèan as he loomed over him. Sèan had lunged for him and pushed him over in the process. 

The doctor was dying, choking on his own blood and feeling the crinkling of the broken bones and ligaments the knife had torn through.

Sèan watched. Captivated by his guggled attempts at breathing and his pleading eyes. Sèan watched him die. It wasn’t an excruciating death or an exceedingly slow one. But it was the first real death that Sèan had ever seen. It only made that last breath richer for Sèan having caused it. 

Two good things now. The doctor had given him his love of knives and his first kill. Sèan thought for a moment, pulling the agate of silver out of his pocket. Thinking about his lack of luck in finding a red deer. Might as well make it three gifts, that was lucky wasn’t it?

After all, one less bone would only make it easier to hide the body

-

Sèan was happier than he had ever been that night, the body having been guided down the creek and carefully dumped in the woods for the wolves to eat.

He stayed up all night pondering over the death, of why it made him so ecstatic. 

It took him till one in the morning to realize what it was. It was vengeance. Bewitching, bloody, enticing, sanguine,  _ vengeance _ . 

He wanted more. He needed more. The excitement of the kill, the glee of the last breath. It was all a huge game, one with more reward and danger than any he had ever played, and he loved games. He fell asleep smiling, with murder dancing in his head.

-

The next day he woke up to a rock on his bedside table. 

It was a good rock. Twice as big as his hand and thin. 

_ The perfect catching stone.  _

An unlucky rock covered in the blood of a young boy who was wandering through the trees alone.

It seemed serial killers were looking for games too. He grabbed the rock and sprinted off. He was ready, it was finally time for Sèan’s turn.

-

It took a day of whittling to make the bone perfect.

Another day of shaving at the stone to make it as strong as possible.

Two days of metalworking.

One day to put the pieces together.

Then one more day to make it perfect.

On the seventh day it was finished, he spent a majority of the day admiring his work, but not daring to throw it. He didn’t want to waste its first use on anything less than human. He only left his knife alone to eat dinner that day. His ma had made an off-hand comment to his father during that meal.

“Wasn’t Dr.Schneeplestein supposed to be coming around for Sèan’s check-up around this time of year?” 

“Hmmm,” He glanced outside to check the weather, “Yes, I think so. I guess he got lost, I heard he liked to take out of the way paths so it was bound to happen at some point,” To an outsider, it would look like he wasn’t concerned. But Sèan knew his family, and his father was worried. Sèan ran over the thoughts of the dumping of the body. He had covered his tracks, and it rained last night. No way there were any footprints left, and no one even knew he went out there.

Expect the other kids. 

The kids who often went to his meadow, about once a week around lunchtime. 

The ones he hadn’t seen in two weeks.

It may be time to crisine the knife. 

-

He took them out. 

One at a time. 

Saving Malcolm for last.

Each one he hid in the woods, miles apart.

And with each one, the families became more and more panicked. 

_ The serial killer that had killed so many and hurt Sèan was back, and he was after the children! What a monster! _

It was different from hunting animals. They ran away differently, fought differently, had different anatomy. A shot that would kill a fox would verily wound the bullies. 

So he adapted. Learned. Gained skills. And by the seventh child, Malcolm, he knew this would never end.

He could never stop. And he never would. He loved this, the chasing and the running and fighting and the bleeding and the  _ screaming  _ and the choked last words and the dying breaths and the terror in their glassy eyes.

There was nothing like it.

But then he ran out of mean children to kill. He considered just killing a random neighbor, but that just didn’t have the same ring to it as killing someone who had wronged him. He definitely wasn’t above killing someone innocent, but he just didn’t want to waste his time on something worthless. 

So he started searching for his old friend. The reason for it all. The man who deemed him ready to enter this life by setting a bloody rock on his bedside table. His would-be killer.

The serial killer.

It would be hard to find him. If the situation were different he would think it was impossible. But he knew it wasn’t, he knew the serial killer wanted to be found. He wanted something to do with Sèan. 

The rock told it all. He left Sèan alive on purpose, he had seen something in the little boy that no one else had and thought he’d pull it out with some good old fashion trauma.

It was the kind thing to do for Sèan to answer the invitation, and return the favor in kind. 

So he searched. And he searched. Wondered about the wounds every day. Searched abandoned homes. Yelled into caves, and carved drawings into trees. But he found nothing.

He went back every day to some of the trees he had drawn on. Hoping to find a response but he found nothing carved onto any neighboring trees. But he did stumble across someone else.

A tall man with long brown hair. He wasn’t the serial killer, Sèan knew that without even having to think about it, but he sure did look a lot like him.

Killing adults was surprisingly easier than killing his old playmates. The children knew to run when they saw him, but the adults didn’t even consider the danger. 

It wasn’t near as satisfying as killing the killer would have been, but it was as close as he was going to get for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning on updating once a week, sorry, I know it's not as great as once a day but... quality over content.


	31. Voiceless Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for self-harm, implied animal death, killing people, etc. If you read the last chapter you should be fine :)

From six to eight years old he killed twenty people, not including the seven children or the doctor.

From eight to nine he slowed down a tad. He didn’t want to kill all the look-alikes too quickly or he would run out, so he only killed thirteen. Most of them were when his father brought him on the yearly trading trip again, the larger town verily even noticing the deaths.

From nine to ten he killed eleven. All of them from the trading town. He was getting worried that people may catch on so he went on a spree during the trip, hoping it would curve the bloodlust for the rest of the year. It worked well enough when paired with the careful dissection of wildlife.

From ten to thirteen he fifty people. Not many of them even looked like the killer, just random people he had happened to find alone. He was a fairly emotional preteen, which was probably his downfall. 

People were starting to catch on. Notice that all the deaths always happened on the same trading day in the same part of town, or that once a year for the last six years a body would show up dead in the woods (Sèan made it a point to kill someone on his birthday every year, as a bit of a gift to himself). Or that the only children who died were the ones that were friends with Sèan. It was all Sèan, Sèan, Sèan

Sèan Sèan Sèan

Sèan Sèan Sèan Sèan

Sèan Sèan Sèan Sèan Sèan

Sèan Sèan Sèan Sèan Sèan

Sèan Sèan Sèan

He was the talk of the town. Every single conversation in the four neighboring villages narrowed down to Sèan. He did it. He was the one killing every one. He was a monster. He was possessed by the devil and he was here to smite us all. He had gone crazy after the attack. He had six arms and glowing eyes. Sèan this and Sèan that, half of the people who spoke of him had never even seen him, but speak they did.

But, of course, no one actually believed it. No one thought the sweet little kid who ran around throwing rocks to himself and hid behind his father was a killer. It wasn’t possible. He was just a ghost story for adults that had nothing to talk about but farming and their lame horse.

At least they didn’t believe it.

-

  
  


The small villages had changed over the last seven years. Gone was the sleepy little farming towns, full of bright-eyed children, hard-working adults, and content elders. Now every day was spent hidden indoors and paranoid in the fields. No one smiled or laughed. A hundred murders would do that to a village.

Where families and neighbors used to gather and chat on porches, now they only watched the surroundings fearfully. The fathers and older brothers keeping eyes on the land, hoping to protect the home if the killer happens by. This, naturally, was hilarious to Sèan, who could accurately throw a knife 120 feet (and sometimes throw one up to 200 if he spent a moment aiming). What could a couple of diligent eyes do to ward off death from the shadows?

And that had become the problem. What could someone do to fight him off? Run? Sèan could chase them down easily. Fight? Sèan had once bested a man three times his size without much difficulty. Call for help? The only thing a helping hand would do was die. 

There was no difficulty in it anymore. His need for vengeance that was covered up by the thrill of hunting was waning away as he got better. Nothing was giving him the same feeling that it once did, that he needed.

He was becoming irritable, and his teenage years were not helping.

He tried killing with his hands instead of his knives, which quickly became just as easy.

He snapped at every little thing in the one way a voiceless boy could. Violence.

But he could barely even do that. No one walked around anymore, and he couldn’t break into homes. Though he had considered it, had even picked the family and planned the attack. It took more willpower than he had ever exerted to stop himself before he completely decimated his cover by killing his next-door neighbors. But every day he started to lose sites of the repercussions. He was starting to… break. More than he was ever broken before. The cracks in his mind buckling beneath his insatiable and starving addiction. 

In one fit of rage, he had found himself sharpening knives to kill his own parents. That's when he knew he had to find an outlet. He didn’t want to kill his ma, if he did he would lose his one tie to his humanity. And he didn’t want to kill his pa, cause he couldn’t get to the trading fairs without him.

He decided to up his search for the serial killer. Spending hours upon hours a day wandering the woods, looking for any scant bit of evidence. Sèan considered himself a skilled woodsman.

He had grown up playing in the woods, walked them daily, almost died in them, and hunted in them often. But searching for something that you know you’re not going to find would turn even the most renowned trackers a bit glassy-eyed after a few weeks. 

So it wasn’t too much of a shock when he tripped over a hidden branch (yelling various unnecessary insults towards the branch while doing so) and fell harshly to the ground. The knife he had been carrying sliced through his sleeve and drew a thin line of blood down his left shoulder as he landed on his throwing arm.

Sèan felt the pain. The pressure, a slight burning, then the warmth of the blood. But it didn’t hurt. It was just another feeling. And maybe, Sèan hoped, a feeling that would cover the need.

He pulled himself up from the ground and leaned up against a tree, pulling his jacket off as hastily as possible. He adjusted the knife in his hand and chose a nonlife-threatening part of his arm. Then sliced it open with the silver knife.

And then a new game began as he waited for the serial killer to take his turn.

-

It held him over for a year. It was fun of course, but pain lost its flair rather quickly, and eventually the body grew used to it and he couldn’t even feel the knife’s bite. And whatever feeling he could cause wasn’t lasting enough, no danger to it other than cutting a tad too deep. 

He was 15 now. A man. And hunting neighbors and drawing his own blood was the past time of a child. 

He needed to find something new. And over that year he figured it out. The serial killer blessed him into his world when he killed the doctor. When he committed his first murder. When he stepped over the line. If he just stepped over another line then the killer would show up again.

He just needed to find that line.

-

He was sitting at his family dining table. His ma ladling a healthy portion of soup into his bowl and a bit of cabbage. Sèan smiled up at her in thanks, she tousled his hair then gently cupped her hand on his cheek for just a moment before filling her own plate and sitting down across from him.

“Would you like to say grace?” His ma asked his pa, who was seated at the head of the table. 

His father nodded, and they both bowed their heads and closed their eyes as he began speaking.

“Dear Lord, thank you for this food,” His pa started. 

Sèan slowly pulled his knife out of the waistband of his trousers.

“Thank you for my wonderful wife, the light of my life,” 

He silently stood up.

“Thank you for Sèan, the finest son a man could ask for,” 

He walked over the soft bear skin rug that his father won in a game of jacks, it muffling his footsteps just as he planned.

“May you bless us with happiness, and forgive us for our sins,”

Sèan held the knife over his pa’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird to say I love a line I wrote? Narcissistic maybe? cause I love this line.
> 
> "Call for help? The only thing a helping hand would do was die. "


	32. Never Meet Your Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE'VE HIT 30,000 WORDS!!  
> -  
> We're also nearly to 100 kudos, and 100 comments!! Can we make it there this chapter!!!???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for blood, violence, trauma I guess, etc.
> 
> -
> 
> Did you know Irelands first serial killer’s name was Darkey Kelly? DARKey!! And Anti calls Dark, Darky sometimes!!! Isn’t that such a huge coincidence!!! I REALLY want to write that into the fic somehow, but I don’t know how it would fit so I thought I would just tell you all.
> 
> Darkey Kelly!!!

He didn’t cry. Not when he killed his pa. Not when he killed his ma. Not when he dropped a candle on their corpses. Not when he watched his home be consumed by flame.

He just stood and watched. 

This wasn’t like his other killings. It wasn’t for vengeance, it wasn’t for fun or thrills. It was just for the sake of killing them. 

He felt himself finally break, the last thread crumbling away with the house. The only thing keeping him human is gone. The last of the binding rope that was his mother snapping loose, releasing a new monster into an unsuspecting world.

He laughed, internally of course. Spreading out his arms to either side of him and basking in the warmth of the flame. His knife, still covered in blood, reflecting the orange glow. He laughed.

There was nothing to hide anymore, the secret was out.

Nothing was holding him back anymore, his humanity was gone.

There was no reason to not do _anything_ he wanted.

So he laughed until the house was gone and the fields were alight in flame and he had to retreat to the trees he had been attacked in. 

He could hear the screaming of his neighbors, having been caught unawares in the night as their houses started aflame. Having rushed to the doors and found them barricaded when there was no time left to break a window and escape. 

Sèan was near delirious in his delight. He had done it! He crossed the line! All he needed to do now was find the killer.

So he ran, and he laughed, and he ran. Ran to the spot he had been killed. 

He knew it well, had insisted that his pa show it to him, and visited it often. The killer would be there, he was sure of it. 

It only took a minute to get there.

Find the tree he had leaned against as his blood drained from him.

The old root he had tripped on.

And there he stood.

He was underwhelmingly plane. Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, average clothes, but it was undoubtedly him. The serial killer who had thought to make Sèan a target but decided against it.

He smiled.

It was a dark smile. Joyful, satisfied, happy, and dark. It was one Sèan reciprocated easily.

Slowly the killer pulled a knife from his trouser pocket. It was a fine blade, whittled bone. It seemed sharp, and Sèan had a feeling he’d know exactly how sharp it was soon. But, of course, that would be part of the fun.

Sèan pulled out his own blade, holding it loosely in one hand as he thought of his next move. The killer eyed it, smiling wider. 

They started circling each other, like wolves. Like deadly animals, and wasn’t that what they were? Killers, predators, monsters? Creatures whose only skills were honed expertly for killing. 

They both knew this battle would end in nothing but death, they had known that for a long time. They’d known that someday they would meet again and one would walk away or neither. And that is exactly what they wanted. They wanted blood, they wanted a challenge, they _needed_ to fight something equal. And if that pleasure came at the price of their own lives they could deal with that. As long as they felt it. The thrill, the adrenaline, the fight or flight surging through their veins. It’s what they lived for, and it’s what they would die for.

They circled each other. Their movements were smooth. No false lunges or quick swipes. They respected each other too much to do something so petty. This was them reacquainting themselves to each other. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and it was only polite to greet the other before the battle began. Their smiles hadn’t waned, their steps didn’t falter, and the lowering sun didn’t hinder their eyesight. The flaming fields glowing in the distance alighting the trees enough for them to go on unimpeded.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” The killer said. His careful steps shifted along the forest floor.

Sèan smiled wider in response. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t outwardly exploding with excitement, he was being careful, he was being patient. Sèan was quiet, as always, but this time it was different. All his skills were finally coming together at this moment. Everything clicking into place now that he was here. 

His steps didn’t make a sound. His breathing blended in with the wind, the shifting of his clothes hidden by the moving of the trees, the glinting of his knife perfectly angled so it only reflected darkness. If the killer had closed his eyes, even for a second Sèan could have walked up to him and slit his throat without the killer thinking he had moved. Sèan was the perfect monster, so stealthy that he could disappear in a fraction of a second and so precisely he could knock a leaf from a tree at 200 feet. Everything about him was made for death, and he knew he could kill him quickly. But he didn’t.

He was being patient, and he would let the killer strike first.

“I know you can’t speak, but I think I know what you're wondering,” Sèan wasn’t wondering anything, he was too focused to let his mind drift to something abstract now, “Why?”

Sèan knew why. The killer wanted someone. A protege, an enemy, a friend, a son. He didn’t know, but he wanted someone.

“Because I could,” The killer smiled wildly and rushed forward right after he said it. He must have been expecting more of a reaction. Something like Sèan freezing up as he tried to speak his protest at those words so he could attack easier. But, of course, that didn’t happen. Because the killer was very much lying, and Sèan could very much tell.

So parrying the hapless charge was easy enough when all he needed to do was step out of the way. Sèan let him readjust, choosing not to stab him in the back as he tumbled forwards. 

The killer turned around quickly, just shy of smoothly, and faced Sèan again.

“Because I saw an opportunity and I took it, no other reason than senseless killing. I’m sure you could understand that” The killer chuckled, “At this point, you’re worse than me,” Another attempt at emotional manipulation? Trying to get Sèan to see the error of his ways, get distracted in the thoughts of ‘in seeking vengeance I have become worse than my enemy’. Complete bullshite really. Did he really think Sèan hadn’t thought of that? It was obvious Sèan was much worse at this point, and Sèan relished in it. 

So, once again, the killer's quick attack when he expected Sèan to be distracted was stopped.

“You may believe that you’re better than me. That all of this is my fault because I made you do it, but no.

You did this. 

You killed them.

_You_ made yourself into a monster.

And you are the one you should be trying to kill,” He paused dramatically between each line like a hero from some fable, and really? It was just getting pathetic. The killer was not living up to his name, and Sèan was now ready to put them both out of their misery. 

So, this time, when the killer made his super sneaky attack Sèan countered with a move of his own. Grabbing onto his knife hand when he thrust it forward and slashed down with his own knife along the wrist in one move before pulling the arm forward and cracking his right elbow into the killer’s sternum.

Sèan let go of the heavily bleeding wrist and socked the killer in the side of the head and used the momentum of the punch to spin himself into a leg swipe. The killer falling like a sack of potatoes, dazed.

Sèan straightened back up and walked over the killer, crouching down over him as he laid on the forest floor.

If Sèan could talk he would say ‘this was extremely disappointing’ but he couldn’t, so he just used the killer’s own knife and shoved it through his throat. Sèan would have tortured him first, but the fires were getting closer, so he dedicated the dishonor of dying by your own blade would be enough.

And Sèan stood, and with a long drawn out sigh, turned to the darker side of the forest and started walking.

Until he heard something move.

And then he heard a bubbling sound.

A sound he knew very well, the sound of someone trying to talk through lungs full of blood.

Sèan turned around on a dime, green eyes wide and chest tight.

The killer was standing up, firelight aglow around him. He reached up, grabbed the knife in his throat, and pulled it out without so much as a flinch. Blood from it arched and hit Sèan cleanly in the face.

The killer coughed up a bit of blood and wiped the knife on his trousers.

“You’re better than I had hoped,” He smiled at Sèan. It was much scarier than earlier smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why you never meet your hero people. They’ll trick you into thinking they’re weak and annoying, then come back to life and nearly scare you to death. Happens every time, I swear.
> 
> -
> 
> And, for later reference do you like a bunch of short chapters or longer ones? I'm not planning on writing longer chapters, I mean, just combining the chapters I've already posted into about half as many. And thoughts?


	33. Mysterious Left Corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 101 kudos and 99 comments!!!! I'm gonna pretend one of those kudos was a comment, which means, we met our goal!!!!!!!
> 
> 100 kudos and 100 comments, were on the fast track to fame people!

“Then he stood up, still alive I might add- hey, why are we pulling over,” Jack asked, as Dean parked the car in front of an old gas station. Dean smiled and pointed at a sign on the window, it read ‘PIE! -$3.75 a slice’

“Not to say your story isn’t interesting, but I think I’m starting to suffer from withdrawals,” Dean said, hopping out of the impala. He looked back into the car just before he went, “Don’t go anywhere,” He pointed at the demons, “Don’t mess with the radio,” He pointed at Sam. Then darted inside. Bobby's old pickup grumbled into a nearby spot and he hurried inside, and, judging by his walking pattern, to go to the bathroom.

The four remaining in the car, minus Chica, sat in awkward silence. Until Sam seemed to notice something. He glanced back at Mark and Jack threw the corner of his eye, then to what he was looking at before. Something around the left corner of the station. Clearly torn between watching the demons and seeing whatever was there.

“What is it?” Jack said, pushing his head up between the two front seats to get a better look. Mark grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and pulled him back so he could see out the front windshield as well.

“Uh- gotta pee-. Just- just stay here,” Sam got out of the car. Rushing past the windows in an obvious attempt to avoid Dean’s watchful eyes and disappeared around the corner of the building.

“Lieing?” Jack asked Mark, still watching the corner.

“Definitely lying,” Mark nodded.

“Should we check it out? It might be fun?” Jack smiled, unknowingly shifting back into the old routine of asking Dark before he does impulsive things. Like he’d been trained in hell when his bloodlust was too strong and volatile to be aloud full rein in anywhere other than the tourturey. 

“No,” Mark said, tearing his eyes away from the mysterious corner, “If it’s something he’s trying to hide from Dean, us finding out would just cause trouble. The hunters arguing over  _ whatever,” ( _ He really wanted to know what he was hiding), “It is will take up time we don’t have,”

Jack sighed, a hint of mania leaving his eyes, as he sat back in the seat and looked elsewhere, “Okay, but if this happens again I’m checking it out. I just won’t tell Dean,” Mark nodded, having decided the same thing.

Then they sat in silence.

And they sat.

Sitting is what they did.

Jack started idly rolling the window up and down, and Mark noticed a toy soldier shoved into a slot in the door and started trying to understand how it got there.

“I bet it’s more interesting than this,” Jack mumbled.

“I know,” Mark agreed wholeheartedly, the ADHD he’d garnered over the years as a ‘human’ fighting against his logical side.

“If they're not back in another five minutes I’m going out there,” Jack said, and Chica even seemed to agree.

One minute of them both staring at the radio clock passed.

Another minute. 

At the third minute Dean sauntered out of the building and both the demons were trying to hide their disappointment from the other. Mark tried to tell himself that in the end the secret wouldn’t matter, they would be rid of hunters soon… hopefully.

Dean got in the car, carefully shielding his pie from any attackings it may be prone to as he sat. He looked around for a moment. “Where’s Sam?”

“Peeing,” Both Mark and Jack spoke at the same time. Dean looked them over suspiciously, about to ask more when Sam came back from around the corner. He looked disgruntled, like he had been arguing. But he hid it well, almost well enough for a demon literally designed for lying not to notice. Dean calmed down, now knowing Mark and Jack hadn’t killed his brother or something similar, and Sam got in the car.

Bobby knocked on the passenger window.

“Let’s go, I’m done waitin’ on ya’ll,”

Dean fired up the impala and got on the road. Jack continued with his story.

“As I was saying before. The killer stood up, fully alive, and started this crazy speech thing. Needless to say watching a man rise from death really made me realize that the mental break I experienced just moments ago would be a kiddy pool compared to the depths of insanity I would soon be diving into...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone know what Sam was doing behind this mystery corner??!! Peeing? Chasing squirrels? Enjoying the scenery? Post your theories and knowings down in the comments!!  
> -  
> Based on Supernatural Season 4, Episode 2


	34. Rabid dog VS. Hungry wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to your regularly scheduled programs  
> -  
> Violence, blood, etc.

“I suppose you thought you’re self clever,” The killer said smoothly, checking his blade, “Little Sèan has always thought he was smarter than the other children, and maybe even some grownups. So of course when I show up he sees right through my goads and dodges everything,” A small smile on his face, a calm smile.

Sèan is completely frozen. Not a part of him moving, not even to breathe. Statue still.

He’s terrified. So incredibly terrified even his bloodlust cowers under the weight of his fear.

So he just stares, and listens, and waits.

“So what do you think now?” His eyes are back on Sèan. Deep brown meeting acid green. “Are you still clever? Are you still smarter than all the little children and villagers you tricked into thinking you were weak?” The killer dropped his arms to the side, knife loosely hanging, and started walking forward. It wasn’t a confident walk, it wasn’t an anxious or thoughtful walk. It was the walk of a man going out to grab bread from the baker or some other equally mundane task. Just an average walk.

“Or have you realized that you are nothing, Sèan? Have you figured out yet that you’re just a sad little boy that almost died? A boy that wanted to make something of himself. A voiceless child that wanted nothing more than to be heard.” The killer stopped only a few feet in front of Sèan.

“Cause that’s all you are. A voiceless boy that figured out people will only look at you when they are dying at your blade. Will only really hear you when they can feel you ripping their soul away from them,” The killer smiled again, and it was not condescending. It was the smile of a father.

“And, Sèan, I can _understand_ that,” He placed a hand on Sèan’s tense shoulder, it was cold, “I know exactly how you feel, and I knew even before you lost your voice you felt the same,” He took the hand holding the knife and gently cupped Sèan’s frozen and blood-spattered cheek. It reminded him of his mother, 

“I could see myself in you, Sèan. And that’s why I saved you from that dull life and showed you my world.” He looked around Sèan, at the fire, at the ash in the wind, at the blood that covered their clothes.

“My _beautiful_ world, and it could be _yours_... if you make the right choice now,” The killer smiled, then brought his arms back to himself and nodded solemnly, “And you know just as well as I how that choice is made,” He stepped back, and tightened the grip on his knife.

“Either you stand still, and turn to ash with the world you burned- or fight back,” The killer declared, “and kill me,”

Sèan stared, his breathing shallow and almost imperceptibly as his mind raced. He was completely petrified, but he knew what he needed to do.

Really, it was obvious. Sèan didn’t stand a chance, and he knew that completely. This creature he was fighting seemed fully immune to dying if the knife in the throat said anything, but Sèan wouldn’t run. If he did run he wouldn’t be able to survive, the end game that has driven him all these years couldn’t just be scrapped. 

He would go insane- more insane. More like a rabid dog than a hungry wolf. He would get himself executed in his rush to find someone of equal value to the killer, or something worse.

Running away would bode the same eventual fate for him: death.

So he chose to let his insanity win over his cowardice. He took that overwhelming part of his brain that made fear, that told him if he stood still enough the monster wouldn’t see him, and snapped it like a sparrow bone. Crushing it into an unrecognizable feeling in the back of his brain that would _never_ bother him again. Letting those final bits of humanity wash away like sand.

He smiled, as bloodlust rushed back into his veins.

His muscles felt tense as he shifted them, like stone, like he hadn't moved them in years. Slowly he tightened his right hand, the silver knife he had nearly dropped pulling back into his grip. His foot shifted forward, regaining his perfect balance. Stared the killer dead in the eye, and lunged. 

Sèan’s lunge was ill-thought-out, seemingly, and met with a step to the side from the killer. However, Sèan had expected him to dodge and had already pulled one of the smaller rock knives he kept in his pocket and threw it into the killer's head once he was behind him.

Unsurprisingly, the killer chuckled, pulled the knife out, and was now duel wielding that blade and his own. It was ironic, really, that the killer couldn’t be killed.

“I would say that shot wasn’t very honorable, but who would I be kidding. Playing fair just wouldn’t be any fun,” The killer took the first move this time, fainting with the rock blade and following through with the other. Sèan dodged it by a hair and was rewarded with a sharp stamp on his left foot. It didn’t hurt, but it caused him to stumble. 

But, the killer didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t shove him back farther, or put him in any sort of hold, just let him stumble and regain balance. He did, however, tell Sèan that this fight would not be fair. Not just in terms of rules and sportsmanlike conduct, but in terms of overall skill. 

Of course, the killer could best him in durability, but he was also his superior in close quarters combat. Sèan would have to deal with that. Dense forests were a hard place to throw knives, even for Sèan.

And it seemed the killer knew that as he waited for Sèan’s next attack, allowing him time to think. Sèan took inventory of what he had mentally. One small rock knife in his left pocket, two in his right, two larger ones tucked into the back of his belt, and the silver knife.

Then Sèan had an idea. 

He looked the killer in the eye, smiled. He could do this. He had cut people to pieces before, this one just happened to be alive. 

And the fight continued on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, I beg of thee


	35. An Old Tree Root

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood, death, fire, you know... the norm these days

It was a war of attrition. Neither could win. Neither would yield. They were more equal than Sèan had expected for only one reason.

Sèan was fast, very fast. He credits his keen reflexes and nimble swipes to him being the dogless fetch master but it could easily be argued that it was from years of chasing down prey with the advantage of pure, terrified adrenalin and a generous head start.

But what that meant was, while the killer was more skilled, his more articulate strikes could never land, but Sèan’s lucky shots could. 

So they fought. 

And kept fighting.

And waited for their opponent to make a misstep.

To stumble. To be blinded by the ashfall in the air just for a moment. To not notice the right cross just outside of their vision.

And then it happened.

(Sèan hadn’t known that before this fight that the killer had staked out the area. Noticed every little hidden stump and particularly strong vine that could easily snag a foot. He had decided all the best steps to take and areas to block Sèan into a corner. He had cheated.)

Sèan tripped on an old tree root, one that was long ago baptized in young blood, and fell to the hard ground.

The killer was atop him in less than a second, holding him down, knife to his throat. The fire that had crept closer sparked around him, lighting his eyes in firry glee. Eyes that seemed black as a godless night.

“Now this is familiar,” He traced Sèan’s ragged scar with the edge of the blade idly. The killer took in the moment as Sèan thought through his rapidly vanishing options. His legs were pinned down, and any free movement would result in his neck sliced open, again.

He thought this might be it for him. Might as well make a move and die at arms.

But then a foreign idea seemed to shoot into the forefront of his mind. Some dull people would call it an epiphany. Some Christians would call it miraculous knowledge from god. People that know what the meaning of an upright tower and reverse death card combination means would call it a foreboding oracular divination. But some people, some people that have seen a darker side of the world, would know what it was. It was a message straight from the devil. It was Lucifer finally cashing in his bet of a fledgling racehorse.

And Sèan listened to it. He called out in his mind to the presence, using the alien words that echoed through his subconscious. 

_ ‘I need to make deal’  _

He heard a silent being acknowledge him. It rumbled through his mind like an earthquake. It felt like being in a pitch-black room with a monster hiding in the shadows. But Sèan couldn’t feel fear anymore.

_ ‘Let me kill him’ _

He understood the unspoken price as clearly as he once heard his mother’s soothing words and his father’s dying scream.

_ ‘Deal’ _

The killer was none the wiser as his death was being paid for. 

“You know, I’ve heard you’re myths of the headless horseman. They’ve always interested me. Him running through towns with death lashing out behind him. The mighty dullahan, killing his victims only by saying their name,” He paused for a moment, seeming much calmer than before, at peace, “I’ve yet to see him. I suspect if he is real we haven’t met him because he’s been following us so closely we haven’t been able to see him. He’s been resting in our shadows.

“When he catches up to you in a moment tell him ‘hi’ for me. Sèan,” 

He pulled the knife back and lined it up with Sèan's chest. Planning to crack it through his rib cage, and into his heart.

Before he had a chance to plunge his knife down, Sèan reached up with his own and reopen the scar on his neck in one smooth motion.

Blood sprayed up.

Sèan drowned in his own blood as he watched the shocked, blood-covered face of his first killer.

If he could laugh he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny, funny stuff.  
> -  
> I get way too ‘Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage’ or ‘The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?’ when I’m trying to be cool, and also want to write extra so chapters are longer.
> 
> I don’t know a word for it. Long-winded? Metaphorical? Over-symbolic? I mean, I talked about tarot cards and dullahans… DULLAHANS! I can't describe it, but you know what I mean if you know what I mean.   
> -  
> Hope you like it, please kuddo and comment if you want :) Like and subscribe :)   
> -  
> Maybe talk about how confused you are about this ending note and if you caught my drift in the comments.


	36. All Hail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Supernatural season 4 episode 2

Unbeknownst to Sèan, his blood flowing too freely for him to notice much of anything, the silver knife burned in his hand. His sacrificed soul allowing it to spark with magic. It etched itself with old runes and drew power from the two souls already bound in its bone and silver. It became more, its sharp edge able to cut through something much stranger than flesh and bone. 

As his vision blurred, his lungs no longer able to contain air, he made his last move. 

His muscle memory, luckily, did most of the work. His mind too fogged to make a lucid and effective strike. But it didn’t take much. 

His arm shot up. The killer, caught off guard shocked by what Sèan had done, didn’t even have a moment to think or fear. The silver knife plunged into his neck, shoving through bone and tendons swiftly with the last of Sèan’s strength. The killer flashed with yellow light, echoing the flames around them, skeleton showing through skin. The black faded from his eyes.

Sèan’s last moments were of watching the killer fall into the flames behind him; dead.

Sèan happily followed.

  
  
  
  


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And he awoke.

And he could breathe.

And he could  _ speak _ .

I must have been heaven.

It wasn’t; It was hell.

It was everything he had ever dreamed of.

Spending his endless days tormenting his torturers, laughing and jeering and joking and fighting and watching blood spill. It was everything he wanted.

Until the demons realized their torture was his bliss and they made a new plan. They locked him up in an endless white room, mouth unable to make a sound, hands unable to hurt anything, nothing to chase, nothing to kill, nothing _. Nothing. NOTHING.  _

And he broke.

He became what they wanted him to be. He began torturing sinners and only wished that he had broken sooner.

He quickly climbed the ranks. Adding a new...creativity to the torturey that no other demon could emulate. His madness honed skills perfectly suited to his new position. He was made for this, and Lucifer must have thought so as well. As he sent one of the kings of hell to offer Sèan a throne of his own.

Anti, King of Torture, was born. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not happy with this chapter but… here it is. Please, everyone reading, talk in the comments about how much you hate this chapter!!!  
> -  
> Also, I want you to know all of the past speakings were in Irish and Jack didn’t say all this stuff verbatim. Just like in Dark’s background story, it was much vaguer, but just assume the hunters know everything you now do


End file.
